Unsteady
by Funkzpiel
Summary: Everything was going according to plan; until it wasn't. Jacob goes to the Alhambra to end things once and for all, only for Roth to ensure they'd [never] end.
1. According to Plan

**CHAPTER 1**

How could he have been such a fool? Those were the words, the thought, the burning question that plagued him as he wandered the familiar halls of the Alhambra, searching for _him._ He could practically hear Evie in his ear, sneering at his stupidity with sisterly grace. God, after the Attaway affair, how could he have not seen it coming? He cringed visibly, teeth grinding as he pressed his mask a little tighter to his skin and slipped into another throng of eager audience members.

They might as well be sheep. On and on they watched as Roth killed their fellows, oblivious to the truth behind their screams – that this was no show, not for them. No innocent little story with a beginning, middle and end. It was a message to Jacob; you can't hide from the dark forever.

"Jesus, Roth," Jacob murmured under his breath, watching helplessly as yet another person was murdered on stage.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Jacob?" Roth called across the theatre, his words meaningless to the men and women that stared on wide-eyed at such spectacular "special effects".

"Are your morals drift~ _iinngg?_ " he sang.

Another scream, another splash of blood. Jacob grit his teeth as he murdered yet another decoy, all the while using Roth's murderous display on stage as a distraction. What better way to hide a gargling, desperate last breath than with death? He hated himself for it all the same.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the crowd. No one heard him. No one could ever hear him. Not like Roth could. _Why?_ He lamented. Why was it that every time he was finally understood – appreciated – praised… Why was it always the darkness that was smiling back?

He shook his head before he could distract himself much longer. Four decoys down. He just needed to free Roth's stage mechanic, and it'd be over. Then he could put this all behind him. Pretend like he hadn't fallen into another monster's bed. Pretend like he hadn't felt at home at Roth's table or in good company in Attaway's carriages.

Pretend like he hadn't felt as though, finally, he belonged.

"Finally, our esteemed guest appears to have graced us with his presence!" Roth howled suddenly, his dark voice crawling across the audience and captivating their attention. Jacob watched as he slowly made his way to the entrance back stage, his eyes on Roth as he dipped past ruffled shoulders and crisp lined suits.

"I hope you have enjoyed your evening thus far, ladies and gentlemen!" He said, raising a pint to the crowd. "I know I have. Now before our final act, I would like to _toast_ all of you brave people who joined us tonight to celebrate life… and death. _Go on. TOAST them!"_

Jacob stopped. He watched, awestruck, as Roth gestured to his blighters to light his stage afire. Flames licked down into the gorgeous wood of the Alhambra like white hot tongues, burning and chewing away everything in its path. Like a disease it spread across the dark, warped trees that framed the stage. And at the Alhambra's center, panic bloomed like wildfire. All at once, people began to shove him, pressing past him towards the door. Jacob had to fight the tide to reach the backstage entrance – aching gently from the many elbows that had found their way into his sides and arms and back.

A Blighter saw him immediately, and as Jacob tried to breathe amongst the thickening smoke, he was sure the man would sound the alarm – that he'd have to fight his way to the mechanic's locked room. The moment hang between them, heavy, until finally the Blighter waved him away with wide eyes and stormed off – a curse of ' _it ain't worth it'_ swallowed into the smoke.

Jacob didn't take the time to let out his bated breath. Instead, he launched himself up and over the railing, taking the last of the steps two at a time before picking the lock to the closet the mechanic was stuck in.

"Jesus, Roth," he said when the doorknob burnt his hand, "You bloody lunatic."

He shouldered his way inside and immediately found the mechanic – tied to a post at the back of the room. The second the mechanic noticed him and the lack of red in his attire, he began to wriggle against his bonds. His voice came across the room muffled and panicked as he no doubt begged for help from behind the gag digging into his mouth.

"Hold on," Jacob said, rushing to him. He deftly untied the knot and removed the gag. "Now I've helped you. I need you to help me." He pointed to the rafter above the stage. "Can you lower that?"

With a quick, terrified nod the mechanic disappeared. Not a moment later, Jacob could hear the creaking of ropes as the rafter lowered to an accessible height. It took seconds to climb the set backstage to reach it. Even less to locate the rope that kept a convenient sandbag suspended. A quick knife across its length had that sandbag flying to the ceiling, its other end wrapped around Roth's ankle and lifting him into the air with it. Roth let out that closest to an undignified yell that Jacob imagined he'd ever hear from the man before finally they were eye to eye again.

"Jacob," Roth said, his angry surprise quickly bleeding into a manic grin despite the way his face began to flush from the blood pooling in his head.

With a snarl, Jacob reached over the railing and pulled him down onto the rafter. The wooden catwalk shuddered alarmingly as he slammed Roth down into its floorboards – ropes groaning with their weight as he moved to straddle the man beneath him.

With one hand at Roth's collar to keep him down, he raised his other hand to release his hidden blade with a quiet, telling snick. It glimmered in the air above them, fire dancing in eerie reflections across its sharp edges.

And then he paused, breathing deeply overtop the man that had brought him to this point. Jacob could feel the animalistic way in which his lips had pulled back from his bared teeth. He could feel the angry creasing at his brow and hear the furious whistling of his breath. He shook violently, humming with anticipated violence – and yet…

The absolute wonder in Roth's face stopped him. The look in his eyes, Jacob just couldn't fathom it. Roth wasn't looking at horror upon the final visage of his murderer. No… He was looking at him as though he were some force of nature to be reckoned with, yes, but also as if he were something to be admired; a moment to be carefully preserved. Roth laid beneath him like a man might stand outside to watch lightning. Mesmerized; willing to take the risk to see it happen.

"Oh Jacob," Roth breathed at last, his words oddly loud in comparison to the fire crackling around them. " _Oh Darling_ , what a night."

And when he spoke, it was if it were a great game – and Jacob won. He felt an odd pang in his chest at that. His voice was soft and desperate and pleading when finally he spoke.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, praying that for once, Roth would answer. "All of it?"

Roth calmed suddenly, an odd glint to his eye.

"What? Snap a baby crow's neck between my thumb and forefinger? Slice to bits the ones you deem innocent? Keep the world in its divine, manic state? For the same reason I do _anything_."

He lunged up suddenly, with more strength than Jacob anticipated; and Jacob found himself reacting on instinct. He lurched forward to deliver the final blow only to jerk, stunned, when one large hand grabbed his bicep and deftly stilled his hidden blade mid-air between them. That hand _clenched_ and Jacob cried out, bones creaking. His blade retracted.

 _How?_ Jacob thought desperately. A flash of red in Roth's eyes, and then there were lips at his ear, the edges of a mustache at his jaw, a sly voice in his head.

"Why not?"

Jacob blinked, his training going haywire as something registered as distinctly _not right_ – but not soon enough. He tried to pull back only to find Roth's other hand at the back of his neck, curling into his smoke-greased hair and pulling him closer.

"Roth!" He exclaimed, confused and wild when the man suddenly buried his face in the soft, vulnerable flesh of his neck. Jacob's view was suddenly consumed with the fire that burned below them – thick smoke rising to meet them as Roth nuzzled him gently, savoring the moment as a lover might. In all the odd things that had happened during his time in London – and thanks to Dickens, there had been _many_ – this took the cake. He struggled weakly in Roth's grasp, bewildered and panicked by his strength and loss of senses.

"Do not worry, my dear," Roth said against his skin. "I shall set you free."

"What are you—Aaaah!"

Teeth. Sudden and blinding pain in his neck. God, they went so deep – how were they so deep? Jacob blinked, the fire in his neck cooling quickly and becoming numb as though he had been dosed with something. His eyelids fluttered, and weakly he pressed his hands against Roth's chest to free himself – only for Roth to suddenly _suck_.

An embarrassing moan slipped through his lips at that, and Jacob stupidly felt his face heat at the sound of it. His eyes rolled, pleasure coursing through his veins as Roth took one large swallow from his veins, a second, a third; and then he let him go.

Jacob pulled upright too quickly, vision swaying as he lurched in his straddle above Roth. With shaking fingers, he checked his throat only to find it wet – his fingers quickly covered in warm, thick blood. There was red in Roth's mustache, his eyes gleaming curiously crimson in the firelight, and – _Jesus_ – he looked high as he licked the last of Jacob's blood from his lips.

"Oh Jacob," he said, his voice smoother somehow, "I knew you'd be amazing."

Something odd flared in Jacob's chest – a twisted sense of pleasure at being praised. He smothered the feeling just as somewhere, a rope snapped. To their left, a part of the stage background crumbled to the heat of the fires Roth had started. It raised a huge cloud of smoke at its collapse, catching in Jacob's throat and making it even harder for him to breathe. He felt lightheaded, the need to bolt burning in his thighs as _'run, run, run'_ blasted in his mind in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his sister. He tried to act upon it, but Roth's bite had sucked the vigor from his bones. He lurched to stand only to find himself tipping. The world twisted and he couldn't quite keep up with it. The last thing he saw was Roth's face – 'cat-that-caught-the-canary' pleasure quickly giving way to terror – as Jacob slipped from beneath the rafter's railings and fell to the stage below.

Wood crumbled around him at impact. Something pierced his side. He screamed, but couldn't hear it among the fire's roar. The flames were brighter now, and closer. His clothing felt oppressive and stuck to his skin. He was going to die here – and suddenly, he was hit gut deep with a wrenching, childish fear.

 _'Oh God,'_ he whimpered; maybe aloud, he didn't know. ' _I'm going to die here.'_ And even to his ears, he sounded like the little boy who used to slip into his sister's bed during thunderstorms – so lost in fear. For a man who delivered death daily, he had never understood it like he did at that moment, buried in those floorboards; ruined and bleeding. Fiercely he wished for his sister. To tell him it'd be okay. To clean up his mess like she always did. To make it right.

Instead, a shadow fell from the rafter above him, and smoke consumed Jacob and the Alhambra.


	2. Little Bird

**CHAPTER 2**

"Drink!" Came a voice, rough as it was manic. There were fingers at his face; smushing it, shaking him, urging him to wake. "Jacob, _drink!"_

Jacob moaned and pulled away, face scrunching when something distinctly warm and wet smeared thickly against his mouth and cheek. Instinctively he tried to lick it away only to splutter fiercely, copper strong on his tongue. His stomach twisted, vomit clenching low at his throat.

"Now is not the time to fight me, darling," the voice said, oddly strangled as fingers pried more and more painfully at his face – as though trying to force open his jaw. Jacob attempted to open his eyes, but the fire was too bright, too searing, and the tears that followed stung. He coughed, smoke thick and cloying, and tasted blood anew. His blood.

"I can't pull you from this beam until you _drink_ , Jacob," urged the voice. Jacob gasped for breath, suddenly aware of the dire situation. There was a hand at his side, clutching at the sharp end of a beam turned spear that started at his back and emerged at his front. Jacob tried to look down, but the hand stopped him – keeping his eyes on the peculiar, flaming red of the man's before him. His chest heaved for breath he couldn't catch; his heart raced.

"Damn it, Jacob."

And then a hand was at his nape, digging deep into the soft curls at the back of his head and _yanking_. Jacob gasped, a silent shout in his throat as another hand appeared over him – a thick and bloody gash at its wrist – and something trickled down his throat. He spluttered. Blood exploded from his mouth, but even more poured in; sliding down his throat, paving the way to his stomach.

The Alhambra roared around them, the third floor collapsing unto the second. The sound distracted the voice, and suddenly the hand and blood were gone. Jacob gasped and coughed and gagged, trying to expel as much of it as he could only for those hands to return; this time to his shoulders.

"Sorry, dear boy," the voice said and then he was pulled from the wreckage, his scream lost beneath the snarling inferno of the Alhambra.

* * *

Jacob came to slowly, long lashes fluttering against pale skin. Wherever he was, he was moving – and for a moment, he felt at home. Moving… he must be on the train. With his sister and Greenie and the Rooks. He felt uncomfortable enough to be on that god forsaken couch. Only… no, that didn't feel right. He hadn't been to the train for days now, instead sleeping at different taverns and inns that favored his Rooks. He tried to remember why, only for a sharp lance of pain to slice across his mind, opening the floodgates to every other pain he had yet noticed.

He was bleeding.

His side was on fire, wet and aching. He fumbled drunkenly to investigate it only for someone to grab his hands halfway there and pin them gently down. He struggled weakly against those hands, only to earn himself a chuckle from their owner.

"Mmhpft," Jacob murmured, vision swaying as he tried to focus. "No."

"Hush now, my dear," Rasped a familiar voice. "I've got you."

Fingers in his hair – long and soothing and familiar. But not Evie's… Evie wasn't very happy with him lately. Why...? He struggled to remember.

Roth.

Jacob winced – images of people being murdered on stage, the sound of screaming, and fire – so much fire. He cried out, grimacing when dried blood cracked painfully around his throat. His lungs burned inside his chest, his breathing raspy. He wheezed and felt he lost more air than he gained. The carriage they were riding in jerked violently, and Jacob couldn't help but shout again as the fire in his side became an inferno. His eyes burned fiercely, wet with pain; but Roth just shushed him again – soothing him with his hands. It was then that Jacob realized the awkwardness of their position; crammed into the back of a carriage with Roth pressed against the side door and Jacob messily curled as small as possible across the length of the seat – his head in Roth's lap.

"Evie," Jacob said, pleading – as though this were a dream, a nightmare, and somehow she could wake him.

"No, my dear," Roth said, moving his hand to cover Jacob's eyes and obscure his vision. "I've got you."

Something whispered in his mind that that was bad, very bad. But Jacob couldn't dwell on it long before he slipped into the darkness once again.

* * *

Jacob moaned, and in turn his throat ached fiercely. He opened his eyes slowly, images processing slowly as he took in the high ceiling and drapes above him. He was in a bed, he realized – soft linens gentle against the naked skin of his back. It was a lovely bed, except for the strange lump at his lower back… He craned his neck to see, skin protesting as dried blood pulled taut, and stared at the sight before him.

A dark head of hair at his navel and a strong arm curled around and beneath him – pulling his hips up from the bed ever so slightly. And a tongue, wide and hot, laving at a messy looking wound in his side. Jacob gasped, skin contracting beneath Roth's administrations, and attempted to jerk away. The reproachful nip he received for his efforts left him shuddering – those teeth, they were much too sharp to be normal.

"R-Roth?" Jacob stammered. "What-?"

Roth tilted his head to meet Jacob's gaze, his face a bloody smirk of pleasure and his eyes peculiarly bright in the darkness. He licked his lips slowly, as a lion might, and grinned with all his teeth. There was something distinctly discomforting about the shape of the man's canines – long and wide and dangerous. It set off warning bells in Jacob's head.

 _Smoke, a fire. His blade, caught between them. A bite, and then the fall._

"You're awake," Roth said, "Good. I was beginning to fear I imbibed too much, my dear."

Imbibed… had they been drinking? Jacob struggled to remember through the haze in his mind. No, they couldn't possibly have been drinking – unless the factory had been a dream and everything 'till now a nightmare. But when had he ever been so lucky.

"You're healing up quite nicely, though," Roth said, cold fingers suddenly at his side. Jacob flinched, then stilled as his eyes fell upon the flesh in question. The fall flickered through his mind again – _plummeting from the rafters, impaled upon the dying carcass of the Alhambra…_ And yet his side looked nearly healed. Ugly, yes. The skin was inflamed and red and puckered – still wet and raw at its center. But the wound itself was nearly closed, and suddenly Jacob felt a panic seize his chest when he wondered just how long he had been out. God, Evie must think him dead!

"No, no, my dear," Roth chuckled eerily, as though reading Jacob's mind. Jacob couldn't help but stare at him with wide eyes, at a loss for clever words for the first time in ages. No doubt he looked like a fish, gaping as he was. "It is still the night of my would-be murder, you've lost no time at all."

"But," Jacob gasped, hating the way his hands shook as he leaned to investigate the mutilated flesh for himself – trying to ignore the fact that his skin still glimmered with Roth's saliva. "The fall. I was–"

"Impaled," Roth said, an odd sort of excitement in his face, "I know, darling. I pulled you off the beam myself."

God… had it gone clean through? How was he still alive?

"Let's just say that I've given you a… _special_ gift."

A gift…?

 _Hands at his jaws, prying his mouth open. His head yanked back, a bloody gash and copper, so much copper._ Jacob jerked forward, side pulling tautly and oozing weakly as he forced himself onto his elbow and dragged himself further up the bed, away from Roth – however minutely.

"What have you done?" Jacob demanded, hoping the question didn't sound as terrified as he felt.

Roth smiled, sharp pearly whites smeared with pink.

"I set you free, little bird."


	3. Almost Over

**CHAPTER 3:**

"What do you mean, Roth?" Jacob growled. "Speak plainly."

Roth's face twisted into an annoyed scowl and Jacob felt his gut wrench stupidly at the thought that he might have disappointed him. He had to shake himself mentally and remind himself that he should not care about the praise of a sociopathic murderer like Roth – but he couldn't shake the disappointment at the same. Jacob grimaced.

"Now, now, my boy," Roth said suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts with a quick, sufficient jerk at Jacob's hips; bringing the assassin back down onto the bed, flat on his back and beneath him. "Don't look so glum. I couldn't have hoped for a better outcome for tonight's event. And here I thought death the only outcome – you never cease to surprise, darling."

"I didn't do anything," Jacob protested, eyeing him like one might gaze at a particularly unstable stranger – wary and perturbed.

"Exactly," Roth said, leaning forward to smirk against his ear and lick a hot strip across the mostly healed punctures in Jacob's throat – making him shudder, eyes wide. "You couldn't do it, so neither could I."

Jacob saw white behind his eyes, electricity still shuttering through his veins from Roth's attention to the bite at his throat. God, why was it so sensitive? It was the bite of a madman, nothing more. Jacob swallowed thickly and tried to blink clarity back into focus.

"Stop," he moaned, and pushed against Roth. Surprisingly, the man conceded. All at once, Roth was off him and standing at his bed side, reaching for his hands and helping him up.

"Quite right, my dear," he said, urging Jacob to his feet. "As tempting as you might be, we must get you fed and squared away. You're not out of the woods yet."

Jacob felt his heart drop into his stomach. He opened his mouth to protest, but the second his feet met the carpet, his head went into a sickening spin. His lashes fluttered as he tried to clear his vision, but instead felt his strength – what little he had of it – leave his knees. He stumbled forward only to be caught by a strong grip, one that immediately held him close in some mock resemblance of worry.

"Ssh, ssh, ssh, darling," Roth said, petting back a lock of hair that had managed to fall into Jacob's face. "It's almost over."

"Wha-?" But Roth was already moving. He slung one of Jacob's arms around his slim shoulders and to Jacob's surprise began to easily steer him up and out of the room. "Where are we going?"

But Roth didn't answer. He just kept urging Jacob further even as the hallways began to grey and his ears began to fill with static. Just as Jacob thought he would not be able to take another step, they reached a door – a locked door.

"One second, my dear," Roth insisted, leaning Jacob gently against the wall as he pulled free a key and swiftly unlocked the door. Jacob could do nothing but watch as Roth again took him under the arm and guided him into the room. It was a dark room, with only its middle illuminated by the light of the moon from a nearby window; its corners drenched in shadows.

Jacob was panting by the time they reached their destination – air coming out of his lungs in big huffs as he tried to understand why he was so tired, so winded, so weak.

"Roth," he murmured, head down, unable to take in the room. "What's happening to me?"

But still, Roth said nothing. Instead, he eased Jacob down to the floor and stepped away completely, disappearing to the doorway; back into the shadows. Observing. Waiting.

"Roth?"

Nothing. A quick turn confirmed that Roth was still there, watching him like a hawk. But the man made no further move to help or answer him. Jacob took a big gulp of air, preparing to sigh, only to realize… something smelled _delicious_.

His breath caught. He took another tentative sniff, then a deeper one. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he smelled it, the scent activating a fire, _a need_ , that burned so hot and so deep Jacob thought he might die if he went another second without it. He opened his eyes and suddenly the darkness was no longer a barrier.

In the darkness he could see a woman chained to opposite side of the room. She was young, pretty in wide-eyed way - and fear made them all the more wider. She looked absolutely petrified. The trembling in her hands had caused the chains at her wrists to start a soft and eerie song, jingling in tune to her terror. She was pale with fright, her hair plastered wetly to her nape and temples. His bottom lip quavered. She was on the verge of tears.

The words ' _don't be afraid'_ blossomed in Jacob's throat only to die before he could speak them. Without meaning to, his eyes slipped closed again. He sniffed the air and felt hunger punch him even harder in his gut. The delicious smell, the smell that was making him go wild – it was her.

She smelled of rainstorms and lightning charged clouds. Like the wind rushing against his face mid-leap of faith. Like the smell of gunpowder and passion and adventure, if one could smell like such a thing. She smelled like adrenaline – like _life_.

And oh, how he wanted her. All of her.

It took a moment to realize that something was growling inside of the room; a moment longer to realize it was _himself._ And yet, even after he could not stop it. Despite the howling of his muscles and the pain in his eyes and the shallowness of his breath, Jacob forced himself onto his hands and knees as though pulled by some hidden force. Slowly, he made his way toward her. Drool pooled in his mouth, but swallowing did not quench his thirst or slake his hunger. If anything, it made the need stronger. He needed her.

He gums _ached_ with that need. His body _ached_ with that need. And with every inch gained, the ache only grew worse – worse and worse until finally he was touching her, his hands at her shoulders, and he felt his bones could go alight at any moment.

The world narrowed to just the two of them. Just his need and her smell – coming from her neck, pulsing in thick waves in time to her heartbeat. He found himself consumed by it, the sound. His eyes became fixated upon her neck, onto the small quiver of her throat where her pulse was visible from fright. He reached a finger out, trembling, and gently stroked that small patch of skin. She whimpered and tried to shrink away, but he was over her now; in her space, encroaching upon what little room she had. His finger was replaced by his lips and nose, then by open-mouthed kisses. She cried audibly, then – weak and pleading. He couldn't understand what she was saying beneath the heady thump of her heartbeat. He licked her pulse to calm her. It did anything but.

He could feel it; her pulse against his tongue. Thick and strong and promising.

And then her voice broke through, thin and small and sounding like his sister from when they were young - one of the very, very few times he had ever heard her cry.

" _P-please don't do this_."

His eyes snapped opened. Violently, he tore himself from her as though burned. And he might as well have been burned, he thought, as the hunger seared punishingly through his veins in response. It rose up like a wave and chewed through him. Urging, pleading, wanting. He shuddered and pressed his face against the floor. He'd throw up if there were anything in him to pass. Instead, he heaved dryly – tears hot against the rims of his eyes.

"No, no, _no_ ," Roth said, his voice more a snarl than the words of a man. He stalked heavily across the room and clawed his hand down deep into Jacob's hair. Jacob let out a hoarse shout, one hand at Roth's wrist as the man lifted Jacob's gaze up to face him.

"Roth!"

The thin man bent down at the waist so that his manic, red eyes could consume Jacob's vision. In them, Jacob could see his own face – pale and terrified and confused, but also needy. So absolutely desperate in his need.

"There's no running from this, Jacob," Roth growled. "It's rude to turn away a gift."

And then he was being dragged by his hair, his feet scrambling useless behind him as he shouted. He wasn't used to being so weak. He was an _assassin._ He scaled buildings and took on multiple foes single-handed. How could he be so weak that he couldn't tear away from this old man's grasp? To be unable to run? Get away? Get back to safety? He felt a frustrated cried burn at his throat, but smothered it down – only for it to be replaced with pain not a second sooner as Roth threw him down at the woman's feet once more.

Her shaking had worsened, tears gleaming wetly on her cheeks. She smelled even more fiercely of rain. The hunger burned through Jacob anew. He writhed, his gums aching. Lost as he was to the sensation, he didn't see it the moment Roth pulled a knife from his waist – nor did he see him cut a long, neat line down her wrist with a softly murmured, "Until you get your teeth."

And then the smell hit him harder, increased threefold.

Everything that she was, everything that she could be – all of it, everything that was _her_. Jacob felt a dry sob build in his chest from how overwhelming it was. So close, so strong, so alive. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He needed. _He needed._

"Hear, dear boy," came a familiar voice, suddenly soothing and gentle. "It's alright, she's here." A warm wrist, soft flesh, pressed to his nose and mouth. Something warm spread like wet jam across his face. His eyes rolled in his skull. First he swiped his tongue messily across the gash, then sucked onto it. His teeth ached to bare down, _to pierce_ , but instead they bluntly pressed against her.

And it was like something clicked, finally. The smell became more tolerable now that he was swallowing down its source, filling his stomach with it, growing full off it. He whimpered with relief, eyes tightly shut as he shuddered pleasantly. She was hitting him, but he didn't notice – not until her attacks became kitten soft against him.

Something was screaming at the back of his mind – something pained and wild and breaking.

But he ignored it in favor of the thick flavor flooding his mouth.

"Good boy," came the voice again, petting the back of his neck, threading fingers through his hair with praise and wonder, and Jacob couldn't help but feel a little thrill of pride. He had pleased his maker. His… maker…

 _'That's...That's not right.'_

Jacob opened his eyes and was met with the face of a dead woman huddled against him - staring at him blankly.

"No!" He spluttered, his unfinished swallow splattering wetly down his chest and across her as he flung her wrist from himself. He clawed his way backward, backpedalling violently. He accidentally kicked her once in his haste, forcing her further into the wall and away from him. She lolled like a rag doll, and looked just as pale as one, too. His stomach seized, and between his large, panicked gulps of air, he was sure he was going to be sick.

 _'What have I done?!'_

He flipped onto his hands and knees, and prepared to vomit only for a large hand to wind across his face from behind, cover his mouth, and lift him onto his knees. His back arched along the length of Roth's legs and waist, the back of his head pressed against Roth's stomach.

"No," Roth chastised him, his hand firmly keeping Jacob's jaws closed. He shook him by his jaw once, tightly, like he were a dog to be spurned and taught a lesson. "No."

Jacob's breath whistled loudly over the top of Roth's hand. He had the man's wrist tight in his grasp, but he couldn't pull himself away. So after a long moment of struggling, instead he waited. He allowed himself to calm until his heart was no longer beating a painful staccato against his ribcage. It slowed, and it slowed, and it slowed…and it slowed...

The room grew grey and soft around him. Something whispered _'this isn't right'_ within him. ' _Something's not right.'_ Roth was easing down behind him, now – lowering Jacob into his lap with a tenderness that was frightening. He felt boneless, even weaker. Cold. Afraid. Exhausted.

"Don't worry, my dear," Roth said, smoothing his sweat drenched hair from his face. "It's almost over."

Jacob watched himself fall asleep in the reflection of Roth's dreadfully red eyes.

* * *

[a/n] Sorry for the delay, I got crazy sick. .


	4. Like A Bird Set Free

**C** **HAPTER** **4 |**

When Jacob woke, it was to the strangest feeling of floating. He felt weightless and warm and soothed, but at the same time he ached – _oh how he ached._ Something purred behind him, warm and slick and against his back. Jacob stirred; his eyes fluttered but didn't open. Sleep tried to pull him down again, but then there were lips at his shoulder and hands around his ribs; all beckoning him to wake.

"How are we feeling, my dear?" a dark voice croaked into his ear, hands winding around him a little tighter. "Better, I hope. More alive."

Jacob moaned, confused. He laid his head back and sighed when it was met with a shoulder to lean against. Water dripped as a hand raised up to card gently through his hair, leaving a warm, wet trail in its wake. Wet... Jacob frowned and finally opened his eyes.

The room was dark, lacking windows as it was. If not for the candles that flickered gently across various counters and surfaces, he imagined the room would be black as pitch. Instead, he could see dim flickers of his surroundings. He was in a deep, claw-footed tub. The water was warm and came midway up his ribs, and while it did not erase all the pain it did soothe some of it. Jacob groaned as his side cramped painfully, reminding him of his foolishness. God, it was probably still open and –

Jacob shot forward. Memories crashed through his head. The Alhambra. The fire – his eyes darted wildly to the candles all around them, suddenly panicked. The beam in his side. Roth forcing blood down his throat, pulling him from the wreckage. Waking to the wound nearly healed. And a room. A girl crying...

"Ssh, ssh, ssh," Roth said gently, stopping his train of thought. He had followed Jacob upright, his lips soft against his feverish skin. Jacob catch his breath, and he couldn't quite get over the fact that something felt distinctly wrong. Roth captured his hand in the water, entwined their fingers and then guided Jacob down to the wound he knew would be there, but wasn't.

Jacob gasped.

His side was whole. Better than whole, it felt solid and smooth and healthy. He arched to look at it, causing the water to slosh awkwardly around them and splash wetly against the floor as he investigated. He couldn't see well. Focusing made his eyes hurt, but he couldn't see any trace of a wound or a scar – just clean, healthy flesh. Additionally, his pants had been removed - his final article of clothing, lost.

"Roth," Jacob croaked, confused. Afraid.

"I'm here, daring." Roth buried his nose into the damp hair at the back of Jacob's neck and breathed against him. It struck Jacob as odd and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that only just now had Roth relaxed, as though suddenly assured that some great fight was over. "I'm so proud of you."

Jacob frowned. Proud… Why?

 _A warm wrist, soft flesh, pressed to his nose and mouth. Something warm spread like wet jam across his face. His eyes rolled in his skull. First he swiped his tongue messily across the gash, then sucked onto it. She was hitting him,_ _but he ignored it in favor of the thick flavor flooding his mouth._

 _And then she died._

Jacob felt his heart stop – or thought he did, only to realize that _that_ was what had struck him odd in his panic not moments before; the absence of his frantic, terrified heartbeat. Jacob leaned forward, away from Roth, and curled into his legs - hand splayed across his still chest. A silent sob clung at his throat, but wouldn't come. With trembling hands, he covered first his face then slowly rose to clutch at his hair. He shook like a stale leaf and tried not to vomit when he felt Roth curl that much closer to him, trying to soothe him. And Jacob hated himself when it did in fact soothe him somewhat.

"I'm a murderer," Jacob whispered.

"Oh darling," Roth said, as though realizing the problem was not a septic gut wound but in fact a papercut, "You were _always_ a murderer." He ran one hand through Jacob's hair and pressed his face beside Jacob's, whispering into his ear, "Don't you see that now?"

Jacob jerked away.

With a series of awkward wet squeaks and splashes, he removed himself – albeit clumsily – from Roth's tub. It was then that he realized with some relief that while he had been naked, Roth had remained clothed beneath him. But the way the water influenced the man's clothes left no illusion to the fact that Roth was in fact _interested._

Jacob shivered.

' _I am not a murderer!'_ rose up his throat, only to die when the girl flashed through his head once more. An Assassin he had been, yes. Murder was his job but he had never been a _Murderer_. His blade fell upon the wicked, not the innocent. A hit was not the same as murder. He had been an _Assassin_. He had toed along the edges of the Creed before, flirted with _breaking_ it, but he had never outright murdered.

Now...

His hands shook. He felt robbed. He had done bad things. He had made mistakes. But Roth had tainted this last good thing about him; ruining him once and for all. His eyes felt hot. Wet. What would Evie say?

"What have you done?!"

Roth leaned back into the tub and smiled.

"I told you. I set you free."

Jacob blinked and a dark realization turned his stomach over. God, he remembered it vividly – he always had – but now it made sense.

 _Roth stood atop a nearby roof and Jacob couldn't help but feel a little thrill of excitement, knowing his job well done would please the friend that awaited him. He pulled himself up and smiled when he felt familiar hands tug him eagerly to his feet._

 _"All rigged up," Jacob said, a malicious grin on his face as he looked down upon the factory and envisioned the suffering their plan would surely cause Starrick._

 _"Perfect! Then let's put our plan into action. Stand back!" He called down to his Blighters. Preoccupied as he was, Roth didn't see it when children suddenly entered the factory – or so Jacob had thought._

 _"Ready~yyy?"_

 _" **Wait!"**_

 _Roth spun on him._

 _"Whatever for?"_

 _"There are children in there!" Jacob said, as though Roth had not noticed._

 _"Jacob, my dear. Starrick uses child labor to manufacture goods. We must put an end to his production line."_

 _Jacob felt his heart drop, his stomach sour. He waited for the punch line. It never came._

 _"But not like this," Jacob hissed, his face an outraged snarl. And Roth snarled right back._

 _"Why not? I can do whatever I damn well please…" he shouted, then calmed suddenly - as though realizing something Jacob could not. "Oh. Oh darling... Soon you will understand what it is to be free_ , _as I am."_

"It was then that I realized what you were missing, Jacob. Our outings had been fun and in so many ways, _we agreed._ More than agreed! We _fed_ off each other. Became greater than ourselves by working together. You made me feel like a young man again. Wild and untamed. You gave me that _edge,_ inspired me to want to be free again. Free from Starrick. To do as I pleased. I had once… but I had lost it, somewhere along the way. _You freed me,_ Jacob Frye." Roth stared at him from his bath waters, his eyes suddenly centuries old and predatory and terrifying in a way that made Jacob feel small and weak and hunted. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He was pinned by the red in those eyes, forced to listen. "And when I realized that you yourself were still chained down by your own shackles, I felt compelled to return the favor. We're two sides of the same coin, Jacob. We deserve to be free together. Imagine what we could do. Free. For eternity."

Jacob hated the way he must've looked in that moment – doe eyed and shocked. He was used to walking with confidence in everything that he did, but now he felt naked more than just in the flesh. He felt more like a babe than a man.

God… was all of this his fault?

He shuddered, then finally vomited. Except it wasn't lunch that came to greet him. Blood splattered thickly across the floor and it only served as a gruesome reminder of what Jacob had done, what he had become. He vomited more. Blood twirled and thinned within the bath water that had escaped the tub during Jacob's thrashings. He watched it weakly and waited for his heartbeat to start again. It didn't.

"This doesn't have to be so hard," Roth said, water sloshing as he too finally exited the tub. "We should be _celebrating_."

And finally, that woke Jacob up.

"No!" He said, teeth bared as he backed up to the door. He had one hand up, promising violence, and the other behind him searching for the door.

"Now darling," Roth said, his voice suddenly tight. "Don't be this way."

Jacob found the doorknob and felt strength return to his bones. Rebellion surged into him, bringing him comfort in familiarity that he could throw himself in until he was somewhere safe to deal with everything else. He shut down his mind, put everything that had happened til now in a box, and focused on one thing - escape.

"Thank you for such a _lovely_ night," he sneered through his most charming, roguish smile - hiding beneath the mask of the man who led the Rooks. "But I don't think this is going to work out. It's not you, it's me."

And then he bolted through the door.

Behind him, he could hear Roth roaring and the splatter of wet feet on slick tile. He didn't look back. Instead, he slammed the door closed and quickly shoved a small nearby hall table beneath its knob at an angle, pinning the door in place. Not a second later, the knob began to jiggle wildly. Jacob ran.

He left a trail of water behind him like breadcrumbs. He was distinctly aware of the fact that he was naked, but the thought of ' _maybe I could grab my pants on the way'_ was quickly dismissed when the sound of Roth breaking violently through the door echoed throughout the house. Jacob made a hard right and nearly let out a sob of gratitude when he saw stairs.

His gratitude faded when he reached the top of those stairs and saw the pale, wide-eyed faces of a gaggle of startled Blighters staring up at him.

"C'mon, boys," he said playfully, humor coming easily to him now that he so desperately needed its cover to stop himself from collapsing beneath the weight of what Roth had done to him. "I know it's big, but it's not nice to stare."

And then he had Blighters hot on his tail, too - taking the stairs two at a time. Jacob started running just in time to dodge Roth. The man stumbled, crashing into the railing of the stairs and blocking the Blighter's progress just as Jacob took off for the window at the end of the hall.

"Jacob! Wait!" Roth yelled, sounding far more concerned than angry all of a sudden.

Jacob didn't stop. Footsteps at his back and Jacob realized that he didn't have a lot of choices. God, this was going to hurt.

He let out a yell as he barreled through the window. Glass shattered in an explosion all around him, knicking him in countless places, and then he was falling.

Four stories.

When he landed, he tried to roll cleanly from the balls of his feet to his knees to his back and follow that momentum back into a run, as he had been trained - but the height was too great. Instead, he got a nice _crunch_ for his efforts and the white hot wrath of physics flaring through his naked body. Distantly, he was shocked the fall hadn't killed him. Around him, people screamed. They shrank from him in fear, breaking like the red sea to reveal his crumpled body on the cobblestones.

He hissed through grit teeth, trying to push down the pain in favor of focus, and looked up at the window. Roth was at the sill of his shattered escape route, looking down at him. The Blighters had already gone back into the house, no doubt running for the stairs to come for him. He didn't have much time.

"Don't do this, Jacob!" Roth called to him, as though he were a small child to be reasoned with. "You don't have much time!"

Jacob didn't linger to think on the man's warning. He forced himself up and prepared to run – and nearly broke his nose when his right ankle proved to be useless. He cursed, then caught sight of a carriage. He hobbled toward it and at the sight of him – wet, naked, mouth bloodied and eyes frenzied – the man tending to the horses ran in fright. Jacob climbed up, whipped the horses with a ferocity bidden by his terror, and was gone just as the Blighters reached the street. He left them behind, a naked man racing through the streets of London. And with dawn beginning to gently pinken the sky, he realized he wouldn't have the cover of darkness for much longer. He lashed the horses again and sped off to where the train should be.

God, how was he going to explain this to Evie?


	5. Petty Indifferences

**Chapter 5 |**

Evie was pouring over their tattered maps of London, her fingers tracing its many nooks and crannies as she pushed articles and notes and strings here and there – making notes, leaving tacks. Finally, her fingers came to brush over one building in particularly before she gave it a confident tap and grinned.

"I've got to tell Mr. Green," she murmured under her breath just as the sound of someone crossing train cars into her lodgings met her ears. She turned and smiled even brighter when she realized that the man in question was before her. What perfect timing.

"Mr. Green, I was just about to come get you – you won't believe what I've just found…," Evie trailed off as she finally took in the image of her friend – harried and pale. "Are you feeling well? You appear as though you've seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost, but it will certainly haunt me all the same. You better come quick, Miss Frye."

"What's wrong, Henry?" She asked, stepping forward, ready.

"It's your brother. Something's very wrong."

Evie jerked back minutely, shock passing over her face only to be very quickly overwhelmed with a sneer. "Of course, _my brother_. What has he done now?"

She shot forward, roughly pushing past Henry to hop between the cars. In her haste, she missed the anxiety on Henry's face that had not subsided. She missed the fear, the concern, the warning. Instead, she leapt through the wind between the train cars and slipped into Jacob's car - and immediately gagged.

"What is that smell?" She asked, shocked as she looked for the source. If not for the smoky, burnt tang to it, she'd almost suspect Jacob of reaching a new level of disorder in his housekeeping. But it smelled like a fire and it was hazy enough for her to almost believe it. She coughed and waved her hand – both to dispel the smell and the smoke – and watched as a figure staggered across the other side of the car and harshly closed one blind, then another and another. And soon, half the car was cast in darkness.

"Jacob, what the bloody hell is going on?" She snarled, pushed to crudity once again by her darling baby brother.

"Evie," Jacob wheezed, and she felt ice slide down her back. No sly reprimand for her unlady-like language. No wild grin. No warmth. Just pain and fear – she didn't even have to know Jacob to hear it; he didn't even bother to hide it. And that terrified her. He was usually so loathe to express anything but aloof cockiness. What could have driven him to this state?

"Jacob?" She rushed forward.

" **Don't!"**

And she stopped, caught half in the light, half in the dark - midway to the shady form of her brother as he reached for a nearby desk to first steady himself, then lower himself to the ground. He was naked, she realized. Naked and _smouldering._ Literally. He… _Jacob_ was the source of the smell. Even now, smoke was rising from raw, red patches of skin at his shoulders, along his forearms and back, across the bridge of his nose; like particularly bad sunburn on its way to being something worse.

"Don't be silly, Jacob, you're hurt!" She snapped and began again, only stopping at the utterly broken way Jacob whispered, " _Please."_

And so she knelt, to at least be on his level, and obeyed his wishes. For a long moment, she merely listened to him. The way his breathing came in a thin, reedy whistle. The panicked pace of it. And as she listened, she wormed a little closer, squinting as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of the train car.

Jacob was curled into the corner at the far end of his desk, and she could scarcely believe a man as large as her brother – both in stature and in personality – could become so small. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and his nose tucked into his arms, but his eyes he kept on her as though afraid she might disappear. Eyes wide and frightened and shining oddly over his forearms. She was suddenly struck with a memory of him from their childhood, standing at her bedside with pleading eyes and a racing heart as thunder cracked across the sky.

She reached out to him, but he did not move. If anything, he trembled harder. Her hands fell slowly to her lap, and despite their recent fighting and venomous words, she felt a fire build in her chest. She'd burn the man that did this to him, she decided. She'd burn his house and cripple his legs and leave him to stew in the consequences.

"Jacob," she whispered. "What happened?"

He merely stared at her for a long while, his eyes occasionally darting to Henry still lingering in the remaining open doorway, only to cringe from its brightness and return back to her. He licked his lips as though parched – and he certainly _looked_ parched – before croaking, "Shut out the light."

She looked at him, concerned as much as she was confused, before looking back to Henry from over her shoulder and nodding to him. At her sign, he did as Jacob asked and closed the door leading back to Evie's car. Evie stayed where she was as one by one, Henry closed the remaining blinds until finally, no light was left. A moment later, she heard the telltale snick of a candle flame's birth just as Henry lowered it to rest beside her on the floor.

"Is that better, Jacob?" Evie asked.

"Yes," he said, sounding as though a thorn had finally been removed from his side. "Thank you."

Evie searched for him in the darkness and once her eyes became accustomed, she could just make out the familiar planes of her twin's face. She waited for him to speak, but when he didn't she gently prodded.

"Jacob, what's going on?"

Her brother let out a stuttered sigh, as though his throat were constricted by some awful memory, and said, "I… I've made a terrible mistake, Evie."

A small, knowing part of her sneered, ' _of course you did, why did I expect anything different?'_ , but she held her tongue as she watched her brother muster the energy to continue. It wasn't the first time Jacob had made a royal mess of something – but it was the first time he had ever owned up to it. Or come to her about it, for that matter. She usually only learned of it _after_ , like when Jacob had nearly singlehandedly taken down the Bank of England and the entire country's economy.

"Who did you kill?" She pressed, trying to restrain the "I told you so" from her tone. Evidently, her words struck a cord all the same. She saw the painful grimace that crossed her twin's face – the way he avoided her gaze again and hid more of his face. Shame; never had he shown it from something _she_ said though. Something else was at play here, not simply their years old arguments about the Creed and how to best honor it. It was not her words he was avoiding or their arguments. It was something else. Something worse.

"He made me do it, Evie."

"Who made you do it? Do what? What's going on, Jacob?"

"Do you remember that dinner invitation?" Jacob whispered so softly into his arms she almost missed it, his eyes on the floor.

"Dinner invitation… From the leader of the Blighters? You mean Maxwell Roth? I thought we agreed you wouldn't go?" Evie said, stern chastisement slowly building despite herself.

"Yes, well… I did go. He wanted to take down Starrick. He had… He had really good information, Evie. I mean _really_ good. Time tables, plans, maps, schematics, shipments routes, guard shifts – an _intimate_ knowledge of Starrick's operations. Intel that would take us ages to discover on our own. It was like he could offer Starrick on a silver platter."

"And yet Starrick lives?" Evie asked.

"We were… we were trying to dismantle his infrastructure first. To inflict the max amount of suffering upon him while simultaneously disarming his reign so that when he fell, it wouldn't leave a giant power hole in England for his passing. I was trying to be mindful, for once - like you're always going on about." Jacob said, defensiveness slowly leaking into his voice. She hated that they brought each other to this point every time they spoke, but if there was one thing she was grateful for, it was that Jacob's defensiveness was also bringing back some of the familiar fight and energy she was used to from her brother. Seeing him wake up helped relieve some of the gibbering panic screaming in the back of her mind at the sight of him so terrified.

"With a _Blighter_ , Jacob?! The _leader_ of the Blighters at that?"

"I checked his intel, of course!" Jacob snarled, sitting a little straighter. "I'm not stupid!"

"And yet here we are."

That seemed to bring Jacob back down, suddenly aware of his own nakedness again. He clutched his arms about his body a little tighter. Henry found Jacob's blanket on the couch that more often than not served as her brother's bed and gently lowered it around Jacob's shoulders. Evie watched as her twin said a soft ' _thank you_ ' and clutched the blanket closed around him.

"Yes... Here we are," Jacob repeated softly, bitterly, and Evie realized with a soft pang of shame that her brother was waiting for her to rub her victory in his face. She looked away. Her reprimands had never been to shame him, but to keep him safe, to help him grow as father would've wanted him to. He could be so, so _great_ if he would just listen. Think before he act… but perhaps she had driven him to this point, too. He was her brother, not her son – and Jacob was no child. She grimaced.

"It sounds like you two must've hit it off, if you've only run into trouble now. That letter came weeks ago," she said, trying to acknowledge that whatever due diligence Jacob had done, obviously something extreme must have happened that he couldn't have predicted – even if he _should_ have predicted it.

Jacob appeared to appreciate the bone he had been given, no matter how small it may have been. It was enough to keep their conversation civil, and that in itself was a victory.

"Yes, well… Let's just say we found out that there was a line he was willing to cross that I was not and leave it at that… I managed to stop him, but once that happened, I ended our partnership and things went decidedly downhill from there. I went to the Alhambra to make sure that the lines he had almost crossed could never be crossed again, but… he…"

Jacob let the sentence hang, silenced by a tremor.

"He what, Jacob? What did he do?" She urged.

Jacob lifted his gaze to look at her, and Evie couldn't help but notice the odd way that the small candlelight had lit his eyes – turning his normally dark browns into a hazy, dark red wine.

"You're going to think I'm crazy," he spat.

"No, I won't."

"No, you _will_. You won't listen, you never do. You'll just quote father at me and leave, so let's just cut to the chase, shall we?" She felt a familiar anger rise in her, only to simmer down as she realized - he was pushing her away. She pursed her lips and forced herself not to fall for the bait. Jacob hadn't bothered to come back to the train for days now. If he'd finally return, it wasn't for nothing. He was wounded, he was in trouble and he was afraid. He needed help. He was _looking_ for help. And once upon a time, they would've helped one another without question or argument. What had happened to them?

It ended here, tonight. In some small way, her brother's current condition was a blessing. He couldn't run as he normally would, and wounded as he was, she didn't want to stir up a useless argument that would only lead to stubborn silence. She couldn't leave him like this. And they can't work together if they're constantly at one another's throat, so that just left one thing - trying to bridge that cavernous gap that had someone grown between them. Jacob had done his part in coming to her. Now it was her turn.

She forced her body language down into something more approachable, strangled down the concern that kept threatening to leak into a worried rage and said, "I'll listen. I know… I know we've been at odds since father's death. We both have a part to play in that – but I acknowledge that it means that _I'm_ part of the reason we're at each other's throat. But you actually came to me for once instead of letting me find out from Constable Abberline or the papers so I'll do you the same kindness by listening. And whatever you say, Jacob, I promise – I'll take your word on it." She paused. "We may not agree on many things, but you've never lied to me, brother. I have no reason to doubt your word, only your actions."

It was a backhanded apology, but it was the closest she could get to "I admit I'm not an innocent little sunflower" without getting defensive and falling back into pointing fingers. She only hoped that it was enough, and not too late.

Jacob stared at her for a long time, then finally raised his chin free of his arms and said, "Maxwell Roth is a vampire, and I think he forced his curse on me as well."

Evie stared at him.

A vampire... _A_ _vampire_. No matter how many times she rolled his words over in her head, she couldn't quite wrap her mind around them. Jacob may be a liar by omission, but he had never lied directly to her. If he was saying that vampires were walking the world as they knew it, at the very least he had been given reason to believe such a thing were possible, even if it wasn't. But after their countless missions with Charles Dickens... yes, some of them had been hoaxes - well, most of them - but there had been anomalies too. Things that even her brother couldn't explain away and _he_ was the skeptic between the two of them. The world was a large, vast thing. Who was she to say it wasn't possible.

But in her thinking, her silence had stretched too long. She came back to herself just as a muscle in Jacob's jaw clenched – obviously stung by her lengthy pause and the shocked expression she no doubt was wearing. He turned away with a sneer and hid his face again, dismissing her.

"Forget it, I'll figure it out on my own."

"No," she said, finally regaining her voice. "No, Jacob, I'm sorry. It was… that's just a lot to digest. Just... Just give me a moment."

He glanced at her, like a kicked dog wondering if the hand being offered to him were friendly, but too anxious to find out. Thankfully, hope won out.

"Okay," he whispered finally.

"Okay," she whispered back. "Okay."


	6. Too Late

They sat in silence for a long moment, and as more time passed by, Evie could see the energy that Jacob had gathered in their argument slowly leech away – leaving him looking small and deflated inside of the gentle wrappings of his blanket. His hair was windswept and unkempt, and she could just make out the tips of his fingers peeking out of the edges of his blanket, itching at the thin wafts of skin peeling from his clavicle.

"Jacob," she said, admonishment on the tip of her tongue, but the words died in her throat when his eyes darted to hers – wild and startled. She felt a pang of guilt pass through her and mentally reminded herself that whatever had happened, real or not, now was not the time to lecture her brother. Instead, she leaned forward a little and gentled her tone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you… I was hoping we could take a look at those burns. If… If you're ready?"

The hand holding Jacob's blanket up suddenly tightened, but after a brief pause he seemed to think better of it and instead gave his sister a small nod. She shuffled forward slowly, so as not to startle him more, and gently peeled the blanket from her brother's shoulders – all the while trying to ignore the peels of skin that came off with it. Jacob didn't cringe or wince once through the process though, and that worried her.

"Alright," she said as they allowed the blanket to pool into Jacob's lap, preserving his modesty or what little of it he had left after streaking halfway across London. "Let's take a look."

The burns were…significant. Hell, her brother had been _smoking_ when she had found him. Now there were gross, open sores – not terribly deep, but oozing – beneath the curls of dead skin that were peeling from Jacob's shoulders, neck, chest and back.

"Could you fetch us a kit, Henry," Evie asked. Henry slipped in and out of the train with only of seconds of sunlight to spare, and Evie couldn't help but feel grateful for the caution he took in exiting. But when Jacob withheld from poking any fun at the informal way she had addressed the man, she couldn't help but feel her worry increase. She did not touch the sores, but even from where they hovered above her brother's skin she could feel the heat that poured from his skin. Whether from the burns or an oncoming fever, she didn't know.

"What happened?" She asked as she waited for Henry to return.

"I… by the time I escaped, it was nearly dawn. I hadn't even given it a second thought, but when I reached the train, the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. Everything on the street was still mostly shaded, but when I climbed to a rooftop to jump onto the train as it passed... I was in direct sunlight as I waited for the train to come close enough for me jump atop it. It was only a handful of seconds. Thirty tops, but… bloody hell, Evie. It felt as though I were on fire."

"You look as though you were on fire," Evie agreed. "But I thought Vampires were supposed to, I don't know, turn to ashes in sunlight. You're still here. Maybe that means that whatever Roth did to you, it's not finished."

"Maybe," Jacob said, and Evie saw the glimmer of hope that passed across his face.

Silence drifted between them again.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not as much now that I'm inside," Jacob muttered, and Evie didn't have long to linger on his words before Henry came back into the train car, a bag in tucked beneath one arm. He knelt beside Evie and opened the kit to begin pulling out jars of smelly ointments and clean bandages. Jacob wrinkled his nose, and when Evie quirked an inquisitive brow at him, he merely shook his head – unwilling to comment.

"Thank you, Henry," Evie said.

"Of course. Would you prefer privacy?" He asked.

The word 'yes' was just about to leave her mouth when Jacob suddenly yelped a quick and panicked ' _no'!_ She turned to regard him, but Jacob gave her no explanations. The whites of his eyes were visible again, bright at the edges of his terrified gaze.

"Then I'll stay," Henry said easily, as though soothing a skittish dog – and for as much as Evie hated the comparison, it did soothe Jacob.

"May I?" Evie asked once she had open one of the salves Henry had brought, a cool and smelly goo at her fingertips. Jacob eyed the stuff warily.

"Yea, okay."

His skin felt like a hot oven beneath her fingers, even through the wet coolness of the gel she spread across his burns. She felt her stomach clench at the uneven feel of her brother's flesh, mottled as it was with blisters and dead skin. But she forced a mask of calmness upon her face, her gaze and hands steady as she worked. Her demeanor seemed to rub off on Jacob, because he settled more and more as she worked until finally, his eyes were nearly shut.

She spread a final dab across the bridge of his nose, wondering if the skin would scar, when Jacob finally met her gaze from beneath his heavy lidded eyes.

"I don't know what to do, Evie," he whispered, and she ached in the apparent absence of her brother's normal suave bravado. She had seen her brother take a bullet through the thick meat of his shoulder only to joke confidently through the inevitable messy stitching that had followed. He was always joking, always taking whatever situation he was in too lightly. For so long, she had wished he would take matters more seriously. _'You're going to end up dead one day, fooling around with an attitude like that, Jacob!'_ she used to tell him. She preferred that Jacob, though. This Jacob – this trembling, small version of her brother – terrified her.

She wiped the gel from her hands on a towel that Henry handed her before cupping Jacob's face and brushing her thumbs across his brow, smoothing the worry from his expression. She wiped back the errant hairs that obscured his face and forced him to look at her.

"We're going to figure this out, Jacob," she said, her voice steady even as she tried to ignore the feverish heat that was steadily beginning to climb in Jacob's skin. "I'll go to Mr. Dickens. Maybe he has some information about the infliction you believe Maxwell Roth has brought upon you."

Jacob watched her and it was only then that she noticed the cloudy, unsteady haze that had begun to pass over her brother's eyes.

She figured a plan would settle his nerves, but all Jacob said was, "You're leaving?"

"Yes," she said, as much as it pained her to admit when a grimace passed over Jacob's face. "I think time may be against us on this one, brother. I'm afraid we cannot wait for night to break. The more information we have now, the faster we can work on fixing you."

"Alright," he said, nodding as he thought it over. "Lock me in the train car alone while you're gone. Just in case."

"Alone? Whatever for, Jacob? What if your condition worsens -?" Evie started, but just as quickly, Jacob cut her off.

"That's precisely why I need you to lock me in here alone. If it does get worse, I don't… I don't want to hurt anyone else, Evie," Jacob said, trailing off into a broken whisper. So that was it. Whatever this infliction was, whether real or some hallucination caused by drugs – Jacob had hurt someone because of it. Considering the fact that her brother had no problem with cutting large, bloody paths through Blighters, it must have been an innocent if Jacob was actually feeling remorse about it. She regarded her brother's pleading face for another long moment before finally nodding.

"Alright, Jacob. We'll find a way to lock you in the train car while I talk with Mr. Dickens."

The relief that flooded Jacob left him deflated against the desk, his eyes sagging with exhaustion once again. Sweat was beginning to bead along the edge of his hair line and along his temples. Evie bit her lip, loathe to leave him, but forced herself up – true to her word.

"Mr. Green, keep an eye on the car while I'm gone. Send a runner for me if anything changes," Evie said, checking her equipment before meeting Henry's eye. He was worried – for Jacob and for her. But he seemed more than willing to help in any way he could. He nodded, a reassuring smile on his face that looked forced.

"We'll be fine."

"Alright," she said, finally out of reasons to stay. She looked down at Jacob – but his eyes were closed and his head lolling. He had fallen asleep. She frowned. She wanted to tell Henry to stay in the cabin now that Jacob couldn't argue, but a paranoid voice in the back of her mind stopped her. ' _Jacob has never lied to you, not outright. If he's afraid for Henry's safety if left alone, it's best to trust his judgment until they know more.'_

"I'll be as quick as I can, Henry," she said as she walked over to the exit of the train car with him. Together, they left the car as quickly as they could so as to minimize the amount of light that slipped in. Once they were safely in her car again, she turned to regard him once more. "Can you handle locking Jacob in?"

"Of course. I'll find a way to keep him secure without alerting the others."

"Yes… Discretion would definitely be appropriate at the moment. Thank you, Henry."

"Think nothing of it, Ms. Frye. Go on. I'll keep watch of your brother."

Without another word, Evie nodded to him and slipped free from the train – off to visit Charles Dickens.

"Ms. Frye!" Charles Dickens exclaimed, startled as Evie slid in next to him at one of his favorite pubs. His table was covered in notes and papers, and if not for the urgency of the matter at hand, she would have felt guilty for having interrupted him while he was so obviously working. She knew that his moods swung wide when it came to his writing. Inspiration either came to him hard and strong or not at all, sometimes leaving him moody for days at a time.

Kind as he was though, he did not seem to be angry at her for pulling him away from his work during a moment of productivity. Instead, he put down his pen – his fingers covered in inky splotches – and greeted her warmly.

"It's been quite some time since last we spoke! I hope you and your brother are doing well. Where is the dear boy, by the way? It seems unusual for you to visit me alone."

"Yes, well, while not exactly unusual lately, there is a reason for his absence on this visit, Mr. Dickens. My brother has, well… he appears to have fallen victim to one of the very things that you normally would assign us to investigate. I was hoping maybe you had some insight," Evie said, dancing around the word she didn't want to say lest Dickens think her crazy and leave. But the man had started the "Ghost Club" in an effort to seek out the light of truth in even the darkest fear. And while most of their cases had led to falsehoods and charlatans, there had been some that gave them pause – never quite solved. He was an open-minded man. Surely he'd at least hear her out. Jacob's life may depend on it.

"Goodness, I'm sorry to hear that. Poor boy. Of course, I'll do whatever I can to help. What would you like to discuss?" Dickens said, leaning forward sincerely. Evie leaned in as well and kept her voice low, eyes darting around the room – but for in search for who or what, she wasn't sure.

"Jacob returned this morning nearly on fire. He said that Roth…" she gathered her resolve, set her jaw and fixed her gaze on Dickens with a look that said 'I dare you to laugh at me'. "He said that an enemy of ours has turned him into a Vampire. Or began the process, or…something, I'm not sure. That's why I'm here. Do you know anything about rumors of Vampires in the city? Or any lore on them, if not?"

There was a long moment where Charles only stared at her, his face carefully blank, and Evie waited for the inevitable dismissal. But her heart surged in relief when Charles leaned forward even further and whispered, "I had hoped that those particular rumors were merely the talk of fanatics. People seem to have an odd fascination with Vampires and the lore that surrounds them. Somehow, their immortality has been romanticized. Stories from Romania in particular appear to be responsible for the rumors. But they aren't as well-known as the stories about, say, Spring-Heeled Jack."

"But there are rumors?" Evie said, "I'm not… we're not crazy for considering it?"

"No, Ms. Frye," Dickens said slowly, carefully, "Unfortunately not."

Evie leaned back and digested what Dickens just said. So it was possible that Jacob had been bitten and turned. That he was becoming one of the very things that she and her brother had worked so hard to remove from the dark alleys of London – another bump in the night. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose and regarded Dickens again, not liking the forlorn look on his face.

"If this is true and he was bitten, how do we fix it?" She asked.

Dickens pursed his lips.

"That depends," he said, "Tell me what Jacob has told you."

Evie shook her head, at a loss for words. She wished suddenly that she had pushed Jacob to explain more of what had happened, but thinking back on her brother – small and curled up in a blanket – she couldn't find the heart even now to force him back through whatever memories he was trying so hard to forget.

"Unfortunately he did not tell me much, Mr. Dickens. To my knowledge, he went to assassinate Mr. Roth and –"

"Roth?" Dickens asked, sitting straighter. "As in Maxwell Roth?"

"Yes... One in the same. Why? What's wrong, Mr. Dickens?"

"Evie, this is very important. Did Mr. Frye say whether or not he drank from anyone last night? From Roth? From another person?" Dickens asked, and the suddenness with which he so fiercely believed Evie made her reel. No cross-talk on Vampires or if it were even remotely possible. Just one name, and Dickens believed. Her stomach dropped.

"No, he did not," Evie said, her skin losing its color as she dreaded the words about to leave her mouth, "But judging by his behavior, I'd say that it's highly likely he was forced to do something last night that he wanted no part of. He… He alluded to an accident, of sorts."

"An accident," Dickens said, trailing off. "Ms. Frye… I'm afraid that your brother is in grave danger. He is at a precipice right now – the edge of a great and terrible change. If this accident your brother has alluded to is what I fear it is, it is likely already too late."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Evie said, her eyes wide.

"I began researching Vampirism after the rumor mill first began. I had started a file I intended to give to you and your brother should the rumors ever begin to increase among the public, but they never did – and so I never gave you the case. But that case file implicated Maxwell Roth's name, among others. From what little I found on the subject, and there's a lot of speculation depending on the region you're in – a Vampire is created after he takes the life of an innocent. That's why my question is so important, Ms. Frye."

"But I thought it was the bite?" Evie asked.

"No. The bite creates the opportunity. The Vampire must then share his blood with the victim in order to begin the change. That creates the… the _thirst_ , if you will. But the process is believed to be reversible up until the moment that the victim takes the life of an innocent while in the madness of their thirst. If Jacob has done this – if he's drained an innocent dry – I'm afraid it's too late to go back. His change will continue unhindered."

Evie felt her eyes burn, but she clenched he jaw and pressed her nails into her hands until the burning abated.

"What changes?"

"It depends on the lore, but generally it's common belief that he'll become intolerant of sunlight until he's much older. Fangs. Immortality. A thirst for blood. He'll no longer be able to eat food as we enjoy it. He'll need blood if he is to survive. After that, things get blurry. Some fables suggest the Vampire will inherit supernatural strength, the ability to see in even the darkest of nights as if it were day, and some even believe that these creatures can control the minds of lesser men."

Evie took a shuddering breath and lowered her face into her hands. Dickens reached across the table to brush her arm gently and said, "I'm sorry, my dear. I did not intend to upset you…"

"No," she said. "That's alright, Mr. Dickens. I appreciate your honesty. How… How long will these changes take?"

"It's hard to say," he said, frowning. "Unfortunately there's not exactly a science to the process. All of this, until now, had been the stuff of myths. Days? Weeks? I'm afraid I don't have concrete answers for you."

"What if I kill Roth?"

"Ah yes, murder," Dickens said, a wry smile on his face. "Normally that would be a perfectly good solution for your field of work. However, that only would have worked up until Mr. Frye drank from another human being. You can kill him, but it stands the very real possibility of hurting your brother at this point."

"What?!"

Dickens nodded.

"Your brother is the child of a Vampire now. They're bonded. I cannot say for sure, but from the stories that I've read, killing the sire may seriously affect Mr. Frye at this stage in his metamorphosis. Some lore even suggests that it would kill him as well."

"Then how do I help Jacob? Surely there must be something?!"

"I will reach out to some of my contacts, Ms. Frye. With any luck, we'll find something. But for now, all you can do is help him through his change. These next few days will be agony for your brother. He'll need a strong mind to see him through it."

"Yes… Thank you, Mr. Dickens. Would it be possible to get a copy of that file you had drafted for Jacob and I?"

"Of course," Dickens said and when he stood, Evie followed suit. "If you don't mind a quick walk, I can do that for you now."

"That would be very appreciated, thank you."

"Of course," he said as he began to gather up his papers and work, and stuff it into his satchel. "Anything for the Frye twins."

' _Hold on, Jacob_ ', Evie thought, _'I will find a way to fix this.'_


	7. Alone in the Dark

Jacob's skin was on fire, and simultaneously, he feared he'd die of cold. He could have sworn each exhale left his breath frozen in the air before him – or was it steaming? He couldn't tell. But surely he must be dying. Staying calm and focused through Evie's interrogation had been exhausting, and now he didn't have the strength to mask his pain any longer.

He had managed to struggle into a loose pair of trousers before collapsing onto his makeshift bed, and that's where he found himself now; face down into the lounge, trembling and curled into a ball. His abdomen was a twisted ball of agony, his joints were made of stone, and his vision came and went in hazy waves. His skin was covered in a fine film of sweat, and no matter what he did, he couldn't get comfortable. So lost in his pain, he lost track of time. Moans left his lips unhindered, but he couldn't hear them. All he could focus on was the pain. Behind his eyes, inside his head, ringing through his ears – tearing him apart.

"Apologies for my tardiness, darling," came a voice, and it was like a sheet of water down his back, pouring the pain away. His muscles shuddered, like a horse shooing a fly, and then relaxed all at once – melting down into the couch. He pressed his face into the cushions and nearly sobbed in relief. "It proved to be more difficult than I expected to find you."

And then there were fingers, long and graceful and familiar, winding through his sweat drenched hair. It was as though every ache, every hurt and every source of throbbing was immediately replaced with euphoria – filling him from the inside out with goodness and pleasure and comfort. Tears bled free from the corners of his eyes, unable to hold them back any longer, and Jacob let loose a long, shuddering sigh of relief.

"Oh dear heart," the voice said, stricken. Thumbs brushed his tears aside, leaving light pink trails along Jacob's feverish cheeks. Finally confidant that the pain would remain at bay, Jacob slowly opened his watery eyes to look up at the source of his salvation.

Maxwell Roth – beaming down at him with a look torn between worry and absolute awe, as though in the presence of a miracle. Jacob felt his still heart twist. This was the monster that had done this to him. He didn't want him to be the source of his relief. He didn't want to be grateful to the man that had caused this in the first place. He didn't want to be this way.

But more than all that, he didn't want Roth to leave – terrified of the pain that would surely follow.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Roth said, and Jacob could still hear the phantom echo of the last time Roth had said it. He shuddered. "If you had just stayed, dear heart. If you would just return to me, you could feel like this all the time. You could embrace your changes instead of curling up here in the dark, shaking and alone."

"M'not alone," Jacob murmured weakly, hating the tremble in his voice that lay audible between them.

"Oh?" Roth said, then pulled his hand away to gesture at the empty room around them. Jacob shivered, pain beginning to seep back into his muscles in the absence of Roth's touch. He nearly whined, and hated himself for it. "But where is your darling family at, dear?"

Jacob pursed his lips, unwilling to let Roth know that Evie was investigating a solution at this very moment lest it push the man into a rage – or worse, he tell him it was useless. Instead, he tried his best to glare at the man. By the amusement on Roth's face, it didn't work.

"They'll leave you, Jacob," the man said, returning his hand to run soothingly along the span of Jacob's burned back. The pain immediately fled. "Once they realize that humanity isn't at the top of the food chain and that you, dear thing, are. They'll lock you away. They're not your family…" Roth whispered conspiratorially, his mouth twisting into a long, chilling grin – fangs suddenly long and pearly in his mouth. "And when you realize this, you'll come back to me."

Jacob shuddered, the promise drawing his blood still.

"Evie would never do that," Jacob said, the words tentative even to his own ears.

"Oh? Did she not turn you away for less?"

Jacob looked away.

"It's alright, darling," Roth said, his hand returning to Jacob's hair. "She's a temporary thing to you now anyway."

"Don't touch her, Roth," Jacob growled, his confidence returning at what he thought to be a thinly veiled threat. Roth laughed, belly deep, and Jacob frowned in confusion – peeved not to be taken seriously.

"I don't need to, dear. She's mortal. Her life is but a candle's flame by comparison to ours, as quickly out as it was lit."

"N-no."

Roth scowled as energy suddenly rushed through Jacob and he found the young Vampire suddenly pulling himself away and crossing the train car. Jacob's hands trembled where they held his pants up his thin and wasting waist - the Change unkind to him in his current state of starvation. "You're weak. The Change is taking much from you. You need to drink."

"No," Jacob said, firmer now. "You need to leave. How did you get in here anyway?"

Roth stared at him from the lounge before he settled back, legs crossed casually – obviously not amendable to leaving at Jacob's demand. He smiled predatorily and held up one hand for Jacob to see. With a slow, graceful wave, Jacob watched as the man's hand disappeared into smoke before Jacob's very eyes, only to gather back into a solid hand once more.

"I could teach you."

"Get out."

When Roth only continued to watch him from his perch, Jacob forced himself taller and squared his jaw. He tried to ignore the mounting pain, growing from deep inside and slowly spreading. He tried, but after a minute he couldn't hold back the tremor any more. Roth smiled knowingly.

"You need me, Jacob," he said. "Let's cease this senseless game. Come home."

"I _am_ home."

Roth sighed and a small, wry grin on his face as he shook his head, as if admonishing a particular cute but foolish dog.

"Alright, darling," he said. Jacob watched, wary, as Roth reached deep into a concealed inner pocket in the breast of his coat and procured a flask. He shook it at Jacob, the contents sloshing gently, and his grin spread. "We'll do things your way."

Jacob took another step back and cursed when the back of his hips found the edge of his desk – nowhere to go. He held one hand out as his gaze darted this way and that, looking for a weapon he knew he wouldn't find. He had insisted Henry take them all once Evie had left, after all. Damn it.

"What are you doing, Roth?" He asked, preparing himself despite his ever waning strength.

With catlike grace, Roth rose from the lounge. Jacob flinched when the telltale pop of the flask's top being removed shot through the room.

"You vomited your dinner, dear," Roth said, extending the flask to him. "And a growing boy needs to eat."

Jacob could _smell_ it, and that alone made his stomach clench in protest. But God, how he _wanted it_. Drool pooled in his mouth, and his gums _ached_ all around his canines. He bared his teeth and hissed, unable to articulate himself for a good moment as an animalistic need gripped his mind. He reached to brace himself against the desk and dug his hand into the edge hard, hoping the pain would draw some clarity. When the fog had passed, he raised his gaze to glare at Roth from beneath his hanging hair – furious.

"I won't do it again, Roth. Never again."

"That's very virtuous of you, darling," Roth said, taking a step closer, making Jacob growl. "But that sort of talk never _lasts_. I'd suggest drinking, or you might find yourself fangs deep in your sweet, beloved sister when your mind finally snaps on you."

Jacob looked to either door. He knew with the roar of the wind around them and the constant hum of the moving train, Henry wouldn't be able to hear him even if he yelled. And damn him, he had made them lock him in here from the outside. He was well and truly stuck in here with Roth until the monster saw fit to turn to smoke once more and leave of his own accord. How did he survive the sun, anyway?

"I'd never hurt her!"

"Not willingly," Roth conceded knowingly, "But hunger does things to a man. Horrible, horrible things. I'd like to spare you from that madness, darling. You need to drink, lest the Change corrode your mind. So your choices are simple. Take this flask willingly or I'll force it down your throat."

Oh, this man didn't know him very well, Jacob thought. The familiar heat of rebellion surged through him, burning away some of the pain as he smirked the same way he'd smirk when someone had him on the ropes in one of the seedier Fight Clubs _. Come and get some._

"You can try."

Roth's smile twisted even further across his face, as manic as the red, gleeful glow of his eyes.

"Oh darling," he said, "This is why I chose you. Always so much fun."

Jacob didn't give him a moment longer to press his advantage. Instead he rushed forward, fists balled as he struck – but he might as well have been moving in molasses for all the good his surprise attack had done. Roth caught his fist as if his punch had been no more forceful than a gently tossed fruit. And then his hand _clenched,_ grinding bone so hard that Jacob shouted. A second later, he found himself being pulled forward and spun around, his arm twisted up behind him and his knee kicked out from under him.

His knees hit the floor with a bang, scraping skin on impact, and just like that all his aches and pains came flooding back. Jacob gasped, head hanging loosely before him just as a forearm came and reached around his throat from behind – forcing his head up to look at the viper constricting him from behind.

Jacob struggled, his eyes panicked like a cornered animal as he stared at the flask Roth had in his free hand. His own hands struggled and pried at the vice like grip around his neck, and no matter how hard he squirmed, he couldn't get free.

"Don't," he said plaintively, trying to ignore how close it sounded to begging.

"Oh I didn't come here to force you, darling, despite what I said," Roth said, taking a deep, sensual whiff from the open top of the flask – eyes closing in bliss. And then those eyes snapped open, red like they had been in the Alhambra, and Roth grinned down upon him. "I'm just going to give you a little nudge in the right direction."

And then he lowered the flask beneath Jacob's very nose. Jacob tried to hold his breath - to no avail, and just like that, that animalistic hunger returned tenfold. It struck him hard, twisting his insides into furious cramps. _No_ , his mind screamed as he struggled to maintain some semblance of self even as he bared his teeth and growled - his sight slowly succumbing to tunnel vision. He lunged forward to curl in on himself, only for Roth's ruthless grip to keep him in place. He cried out, he groaned, he grit his teeth. He wanted it. _He wanted it._

"Please," he keened. But whether it was a plea to be released or to have that glorious liquid poured down his throat, he didn't know. He closed his eyes as pain wracked his body, urging him to partake. His nails bit bloody peels into the forearm around his neck.

And then as suddenly as Roth had brought him to his knees, he shoved him forward. Once he had his wits about him, Jacob whirled to find Roth on the couch again – splayed like a great and lazy cat – the flask on the floor between them gleaming innocently.

Even out from under his nose and across the room, he could smell it. Need pulsed inside him, creating a feeling identical to a heartbeat thrumming through his veins. He could still remember how the girl had tasted, and even though a fragment of his mind howled in agony at the reminder of what he had done, the taste – _oh the taste_ – made him want it all the same.

On his knees, he looked between Roth and the flask and bit his lip.

"Imagine it, Jacob. Unlimited power. Those tricks your Brotherhood taught you are nothing in comparison to what I can train you to do. Imagine piercing through windows without heed of any locks. Sweeping through hallways without so much as a whisper. Seducing the minds of your foes to unlock doors for you, steal for you, _murder_ for you. Your enemies would quake in the presence of your shadow, darling, if you'd only let me set you free."

Roth stood then, smoothing out his elegant clothing as he did. He glanced down to the creature he had made, curled on the carpet as Jacob was, and smiled.

"The process cannot be reversed, darling, you've already made your kill. If you want out of this gift I have bestowed upon you, there are ways – very fatal, very permanent ways… But if you're ready to become more than what your stifling _Creed_ allows, then drink," Roth said, splaying his arms out theatrically and bending at the waist, his eyes on Jacob all the while as he slowly backed himself into the shadows – only to become them. "And come and find me."

Jacob shuddered, his gaze darting to each corner of the room and back again, halfway expecting Roth to suddenly reappear and shove the flask down his throat. But the man never did. Instead, Jacob found himself alone again, the pain once again mounting without Roth's presence. His hands trembled as agony overtook his joints one by one, and Jacob couldn't help but stare at the flask transfixed. There in the train car, locked in from the outside, he sat.

Alone with nothing but blood, pain and his thoughts – Jacob quietly wept.

* * *

[a/n]

Hello wonderful people who have been reading and supporting this fic! I just wanted to give you a heads up that I'm going to Dragon Con this weekend for an extended trip starting tomorrow, and I won't be back until next Wednesday – which means, no updates in the mean time. Stay tuned though, more to come!


	8. The Choice

Evie ran to rendezvous with the train as quickly as she could, the words from Charles' report racing across her mind all the while – deafening her to sound of all else as she went. She needed to know what happened last night; _everything_ that happened last night. She hoped it was not too late. The knot in her belly told her that it likely was. But she could hope. It was all she had left, right now.

The sun hung low in the sky.

She tore her way up a nearby building like a madwoman and no sooner was she atop its roof, she was pitching herself over its edge – papers crushed beneath her armpit as she dove for the roof of the train. She hit her target with a little less grace than she would normally be pleased with, but didn't give herself more than a mere second to dwell on it before racing for Jacob's car.

Air burned in her lungs, hot and angry, as she deftly dropped between the slot that connected her car to Jacob's. A quick look inside her own car confirmed that Henry was still around, just as promised. He had his back to her and was no doubt scouring the documents she herself had been looking at this morning before Jacob had arrived and thrown their lives into disarray once again.

She paused in the alcove that connected the two cars, momentarily conflicted on whether or not she should alert Henry to her presence. Would he understand? If it turned out there was no cure for Jacob, what would he do? He already knew about the situation, so they wouldn't be able to keep it a secret from him. He'd inquire sooner or later as to the nature of Evie's findings.

Evie trusted Henry with her life, because Henry was a good man. For that same reason, she could not trust him now.

She slipped into Jacob's car quickly and was immediately embraced by darkness. She pressed her back against the door and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the guilty knot building in her stomach at having decided not to trust the man she had come to consider a friend. More, she might dare say – despite how it made her frown. Relationships were a weakness.

Jacob, case in point.

She brushed back a stray hair and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness before finally registering that beneath the tinny roar of the train, there was another sound emitting through the car. Panting, ragged and panicked. Whimpering. Scratching.

Her eyes adjusted. She found Jacob on his knees, bent over the carpet, licking desperately at a dark stain on the floor that had long since dried.

"J-Jacob?"

Jacob jerked to look at her, his eyes wide and reflective like an animal in the darkness. Fear slid down her bones, familiar but unexpected. Fear, she had felt before – but not like this. Not from her brother.

Jacob blinked several times, as though disoriented, then burst into life. He lurched back onto his butt ungracefully and quickly scrambled away, all long legs and pale arms, until he found himself pressed into a corner. Still, his eyes flickered at her in the darkness. Every now and then, she almost thought them red.

"E-Evie," he whimpered, as thought caught in some horrendous deed. "I didn't. He offered, but I threw it." His eyes darted to an empty, dented flask the lay near the dirty stain, then back to her. She realized the room smelled of copper. "I didn't drink it… but I… it hurts, Ev. I'm so thirsty."

His throat clicked audibly when he swallowed, dry as bone. Dry as the stain he'd been licking.

"It's okay, Jacob," she said as soothingly as she could muster, trying to make sense of his words. Trying to flatiron out the tremble she found hanging between them. "I know you're strong. I know you didn't do it."

That seemed to give him a little courage, but he didn't remove himself from his corner. His eyes darted to find Henry, then landed back on her. His skin paled, if possible.

"You shouldn't be here alone."

"You'd never hurt me," she vowed, but even as she said it, she thought of all the venomous words they had both exchanged up until this moment. They hurt each other every day. No doubt Jacob was thinking it too.

Jacob swallowed again, the click sending her heart into a pause.

She thought he'd agree with her, even if just to encourage them both.

"I can't do this," is what he said instead. It sounded like goodbye.

Evie's eyes burned.

"Jacob," she said, rushing forward. His muscles twinged visibly beneath his worrisomely thinning skin, but she walked nearer to him anyway. She stopped at the desk, still giving him his space, as she lit the candle that had long since died out and began to splay out the files that Charles had given her. She forced confidence into her every move, her every breath, because between them they couldn't afford another moment of hesitation. And if she had to be strong for them both, she would be. She had to be.

And this – reports, research, information – this is what she was good at.

"Mr. Dickens had some information. But I need to know what happened last night if it is to be any use to us," she said, and when Jacob only stared at her as if she had asked him to pull his own nails from their beds, she pressed on. "There might be a cure for this, Jacob. Please. Let me help you."

When silence hung between them, her confidence waivered. She felt suddenly small, like she had when they were young and Jacob had been down with a terrible fever for the better part of three days.

"We used to tell each other everything," she said, pleading. She couldn't bear to look him in the eyes, though, lest he see how terrified she was or the tears that threatened to spill. How had they come to this? Her fingers curled uselessly on the desk, taking Charles' work with it. She turned her face further from Jacob and bit her lip. Slowly, the candle began to wane. She waited. She prayed.

Had Jacob given up...?

"He bit me," Jacob said, startling her. Her gaze darted to his. "And I fell from the rafter we were on. The Alhambra was on fire and I fell right onto its bloody fucking bones. I was…" He shuddered, and every word he said felt like another nail pounded into the coffin of their hope. "I should have died. Roth forced his own blood down my throat, and when I woke, I was in his bed – nearly healed. He took me to a room and he… He made me…"

Jacob's breathing began to increase, a whisper of hyperventilation building in every wheeze.

"There was a girl, Evie, and I killed her."

The trembling, panicked words, ' _I couldn't help it_ ' hung between them, heavy and unsaid. Evie turned back to Charles' papers and heard rather than felt the tear that fell from her nose. It spoiled the ink on the page. It didn't matter. It could not help them.

"It's too late, isn't it?" Jacob whispered. Evie couldn't help but feel as though fate were being cruel. Had Mr. Dickens told she and Jacob about something as silly as Vampires when they had first started their journey, she would have laughed. Even she, as open-minded as she was about the supernatural, would have laughed. She would have joked that Jacob would have _loved_ to become a Vampire. Beautiful and supernaturally strong forever? He would have been thrilled.

But they wouldn't have known about the pain, she thought, watching her brother shake so hard he couldn't have held a glass of water if he wanted to; even if he could drink it. They couldn't have known about the cost.

The Jacob she knew before this morning would have gloated. The Jacob she knew now broke her heart. How desperately she wanted to fix him.

She cleared her throat.

"No," she said. "Mr. Dickens said he has contacts he can reach out to. It'll take time to hear from them, but surely one of them has a solution. A cure must exist."

"Roth said it was too late."

She spun to look at him.

"Roth? He was here?!"

"He brought the flask, Evie. I didn't take it," he said, and then suddenly his eyes were back on the spot he had been licking – flat and faraway. "I didn't take it."

He wished he had, though, and that made Evie's stomach seize. He was starving. How long could he last like this? They'd need time to research his condition. A lot of time. How long before he starved to death? She couldn't watch him waste away. Her eyes fell to one of the pages splayed across the table. An account from one researcher who theorized that Vampires must be able to control themselves in their taking, lest there would be far more bodies than accredited for today. That perhaps if the fangs are not involved, the possibility of death was lessened. That if the victim was in fact willing, perhaps they would be aware enough to assist their partner with controlling their thirst. Doubt whispered that these reports were as flimsy as they were sparse. Dickens had not found much on these creatures. There was a reason why he had never shared the reports until now…

Haste was not unusual to the Frye line, but it was to _Evie_ Frye. She prided herself in being practical and logical where her brother was not. She took her time in crafting her decisions, in building her plans. Meticulous and steady, that was what she was known for.

But she couldn't bear another moment of Jacob's lost, dead eyes. The hidden blade at her side slid free in a whisper that might as well have been a familiar song to them. It brought her strength. But it only inspired dread in her brother. He jerked free of his thoughts with a look so panicked, so struck, that one might have thought she'd shot him. She held her bare hand out to him like one might sooth a startled animal and spoke softly as she hushed him.

"It's okay. It's okay, Jacob. I'm just going to make a tiny knick, and when you've slaked the worst of your thirst, we can stop–"

 _"No!"_ The word came from deep in Jacob's chest, rumbling and raw and terrified.

Evie continued even as Jacob scurried up the wall into a standing position. The looseness of his clothing urged her onward even as he held out his hands to stop her and begged.

"Evie, please don't do this! I'll hurt you. You don't understand what it's like," his voice cracked. "I don't want it! _I can't!_ "

"I won't let you starve, Jacob," she said, shaking her head – her throat tight from seeing her brother this way. Tight from fear. She brought the edge of the blade toward her palm. "I trust you, Jacob. And I have my blade, if I need it."

"Henry," Jacob muttered, as though freshly remembering something, then - " _Henry!"_

He rushed past Evie and jerked open the door. Wind howled into the train car as pale fingers of dusk peeked in. Evie caught Jacob by the elbow before he could walk into the light and yanked him back inside. He felt so thin beneath her fingers. So frail. God, and it had only been a day. Surely this sort of deterioration wasn't normal, even for the supernatural.

"Jacob, don't!" She shouted. "You'll burn yourself again!"

He pushed her away and tore off for the door again. She regained her footing and raced after him just as Jacob slipped into the evening air and disappeared up the ladder, but not before he banged loudly on Henry's door along the way.

"Jacob!" Evie shouted again.

The door to her own car opened just as she herself began to ascend the ladder to the roof.

"What's going on?" Henry asked, but Evie didn't bother to pause. She had to get to Jacob. She had to bring him back inside before he hurt himself further. She pulled herself atop the train car just in time to see Jacob whirling in place at its center, desperate to escape and with nowhere to go. She looked around and realized that they were just beginning to cross one of the longer bridges spanning the River Thames. Nowhere to go but down. He took one last look around, then spun to face his sister – eyes wide like a deer's.

"Evie, _please_ ," he begged again, but he was weak. Weak from pain, from hunger. His pleading broke her heart. The shadows in his cheeks even more so.

Henry climbed up beside her.

"Henry!" Jacob shouted, relieved. "Make her see some bloody reason!"

"What's going on?" Henry asked, his hand near his blade at his side. Jacob stilled when he saw that. "What's wrong?"

"He needs to drink, Henry," Evie said, committed despite her brother's protests. "He's going to die if he doesn't. We just need time, and-"

"Evie," Henry started, his eyes on her, surprised. "You can't possibly be suggesting that he _drink_ from you."

"Just a little," she said, defensive. Her cheeks felt hot. She spun to look at Jacob, reassured of her decision as she caught the small peels of smoke slowly blooming at her brother's shoulders. Dusk was kinder than dawn had been, but it hurt him all the same. The sun began to set in the distance. The train roared on. She took another step closer, knowing Jacob's opportunity to escape would soon be upon them. The end of the bridge was coming.

"I can't control it, Evie," Jacob pleaded.

"We'll help you! We'll make sure you stop!" She promised him, but Jacob just kept shaking his head – terrified. Evie felt a sting of guilt, but she couldn't lose him. Not when there were people they could talk with. Not when there was a chance they could still fix this. Jacob was being rash again, ruled by his emotions. Death was not the only solution. His way was not the only way. "I'm sorry, Jacob, but it's for your own good."

"Would you listen to me for once?" Jacob pleaded. _"I can't control it!"_

"Evie!" Henry shouted and lunged for her.

She cut her palm before either of them could stop her. The change was instant. Blood, her blood, bloomed between them – scarlet and inviting. Copper stained the air. Her brother's pupils dilated until no brown remained. Where weakness and guilt and worry had made him small, hunger made him fearsome, filling his deflated body until he towered over them both. His eyes glowed red in the dying light. Her heart stuttered.

Jacob lunged for her and despite the distance between them he was on her faster than she could blink. His grip was suddenly strong like iron, and she hadn't once considered the fact that his fragility and his weakness until this moment might not have been because he had no strength left to give but because he was afraid to use it. Her wrist was already beginning to bruise where he held it. His words echoed.

 _I can't control it!_

He brought her palm to his mouth – blunt teeth firm but not pressing against her skin – latched on and _sucked._ Her eyes rolled.

"Evie!"

All at once, she was overwhelmed with a feeling not unlike pleasure. It rolled through her like a wave and blanketed her mind with a soft cloud of static that made it hard to think. This was nice. This was good. She lolled into the grip that held her even as hands suddenly appeared at her shoulders and pried her free. There was a shout, followed by a rumbling growl, and she blinked.

The pleasure faded, and it took a moment to realize how _cold_ she was, how tired. Her fingers trembled where they lay in her lap, and she felt small in Henry's grasp. He knelt beside her, one arm splayed around Evie's shoulders – the other armed with his kukri. Blood oozed sluggishly from the suck-swollen wound at her palm, and it _ached_ and _pulsed_ in memory of what happened. She blinked owlishly, then slowly looked across the train car's roof. There was a gibbering, niggling worry at the back of her mind, but she couldn't think of what it was.

She remembered when she saw Jacob.

He was Jacob again, _her Jacob_ , that much was obvious. He was Jacob, and he was terrified, and he looked horrified. He held his hands out to them, and he was trembling. His hair was a wild, twisting mane about his stricken face – but already he had some color back. She wanted to feel good about that. She wanted to feel as though she had been in the right.

But she couldn't get past the pure pain, the obvious _self-loathing_ that was painted so clearly on her brother's face. His mouth was smeared red. His teeth were pink.

"Jacob," she pleaded. "It's okay. I'm okay. I told you it'd be okay. See? You stopped. I knew you could do it."

But Henry said nothing to back her up. She looked over at him to see the steely gaze he had on Jacob. Like a man staring down a wolf. She pulled away from him and grabbed his wrist, forcing the blade down.

"He's _fine_ ," she urged. "It's alright now."

"Evie, he almost—" Henry said, then, "Jacob!"

Evie turned in time to see her brother take one last step away from them in his terror, unaware of how close he was to the edge. His foot pitched back over the side of the train and Jacob caught her eye for a brief second – _so painfully young_ – before he fell from the car. Fast as they were moving, their angle had shifted far enough during the moments of his fall that she could see his body hit the large stone railing of the bridge below them, a good few _feet_ below them, then roll over the bridge's edge only to disappear into the roaring murk of the River Thames.

The sun winked beneath the horizon and disappeared.

"Jacob?" She whispered numbly.

She sprung to her feet, swaying only for a moment, then ran to the edge of the car. She couldn't spot him in the water. A boat chugged over the water where he surely fell, and then the train passed from the bridge altogether.

She screamed out to him as though he might hear it.

He didn't.

* * *

[a/n] Thank you guys for all your continued support and patience while I was away! I'm back and here's a new chapter, as promised! :D

Updates to "Wild Youth" to come!


	9. The River

Evie was saying something, of that, Jacob was certain. Her mouth was moving, her eyes were on him, but he couldn't hear a word over the roaring in his head. If his heart were still a living thing inside him, he knew it'd be racing. But it was still, painfully still – another reminder of the monster he was becoming.

Jacob took one step back. Another.

She was exchanging words with Henry now, her eyes wide and earnest where his were calm and clear and focused. Focused on protecting her – from Jacob.

He could still taste her on his teeth, on his lips, on his tongue. Warm and living and delicious. The few swallows blood he had managed to draw from her lurched uneasily in his stomach, and he had to swallow hard to resist purging himself right in front of them. He took another stumbling step back when Henry's gaze went from Evie, soft and concerned – to Jacob, hard and knowing. It felt like a knife in his gut, hot and twisting, and Jacob felt the air slam out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Did he need to breathe?

"I—" He started, and then the heel of his retreating foot found nothing but air and the edge of the train. But he didn't realize it in time. His weight continued backward, slowly pitching his balance over until the world became a disjointed, slanted thing. He fell and the last thing he saw before his back hit the unforgiving railing of the bridge was Evie's eyes – wide and shocked.

There was a loud crunch, the roar of the train passing him by, and then his head hit stone with a sickening slap. The world flickered in and out from black as momentum pitched him over the edge, rolling his limp form until he was airborne once more. Wind at his back, between his fingers. Like a leap of faith, but softer – less controlled. Like falling asleep. His lashes fluttered as the sky drew further and further away. His vision went black.

A crack that sounded like the world being split in two, and then he was engulfed on all sides by darkness. Water rose to drag him down into its clutches like a lover, seizing him on all sides. Icy, brackish water penetrated his mouth, his throat. He gasped, and the river took him.

He could see the surface, lit lightly by the fading sun. He blinked, and suddenly it was further away.

He couldn't help but think of all the rowdy, seedy dockside pubs he'd been in and all the stories he had heard from sailors about how drowning was a kind death, a gentle death. He wondered if it was true. He closed his eyes. At least he couldn't hurt anyone else, now. At least Evie was safe.

He closed his eyes and drifted. He lost time. The world shorted out all around him, and then there was a hook and hands – grabbing him, hard and squeezing – pulling him up from the depths. He was hauled onto a ship deck, and no sooner was he upon it he was vomiting. Dark water splattered onto the deck before him, tinged pink with blood. Jacob shuddered and vomited again.

"Look'it what we have 'ere, boys," said a gruff, cruel voice – dark and mocking above him. "Thought I saw a Rook try to fly, I did. You boys were never any good at it, though."

A steel-toed boot slammed into his ribs, tossing Jacob to his side on the deck. He cried out, too tired, too distraught to care for his pride. He bared his teeth and curled around his ribs, only for his spine to complain instead. He squinted up through the pain at his rescuers-turned-attackers. Blighters, the lot of them. Six, it seemed. If he was lucky, maybe there were actually three and he was just seeing double. He doubted it. When was Jacob Frye ever lucky.

Never, it seemed these days.

"Maybe someone done clipped his wings!" Another jibed, his grin as ugly as his voice.

"A bit late for a swim, don't you think, boys?" And then there were hands in his hair, pulling him upright onto his knees. Jacob keened, his face wrecked as he struggled to keep up with his torturer. All around him, the men burst into cruel snickers. Jacob tried to clear the water from his eyes, tried to collect himself, but the world was a hazy mess and he was too exhausted to blink it away.

"Are we sure this is 'im?" One said, scrawny and oily. "Looks dumber than a box of rocks. Can't be 'im."

"You try falling off a fucking bridge," Jacob's daze turned into a soft snarl. His eyes fluttered, but he still managed to pass the man an exhausted smirk. "I'd be happy to help push you off it myself, if you need some help."

"You little prick!"

A fist in his gut. A boot. The hand in his hair let him go and he hit the deck like rotten potatoes.

"What do we do with 'im?"

"Starrick wants 'im dead."

"Then we should have left 'im in the fucking water!"

"Shut up, the lot of you. Yeah, Starrick wants 'im dead – _but_ he also wants to be the one to do it. I say we take Frye to 'im. Maybe there'll be some coin in it for us."

"He's right, he is. I've heard the man mumbling about Frye all the time. Bet he'd be real grateful."

"Then it's settled," said the man nearest to him just before dropping a heavy foot in Jacob's lower back and _pressing_. "We take 'im to Starrick."

Jacob tried to push back against that boot, but his muscles burned beneath his sopping wet clothing and the heavy weight of _hunger_ in his belly. That animalistic haze loomed in the back of his mind, ready to take over - but he resisted. Every breath that passed without his teeth in their skin felt like agony, white hot and seething, but he resisted. Tried to focus. He shook his head to clear it.

He couldn't let them take him, even if he had wished he died in the Thames' depths. Dying of his own choosing was one thing, but _Starrick_... He wouldn't give the monster the satisfaction. In fact, just hearing his name was like a bell clearing his mind, reminding him of the job he had left to do. Roth's little _gift_ had so royally fucked up his head, he had forgotten why he had come to London in the first place.

To kill one Crawford Starrick. To put an end to his operations and his tyranny. To set the people free.

But he couldn't keep killing innocents. It was against the Creed. It was the only thing that made him different from monsters like Starrick or Attaway or Roth. He couldn't feed from the blood of the innocent.

Something clicked.

…What of the blood of the men he would've killed anyway? Starrick's blood? Roth's blood? Blighter blood?

Suddenly, Jacob's gums ached fiercely. The boot at his back pulled free, the removal of its weight a blessing, but Jacob waited. Despite the agony of holding back the baying beast inside him, he waited. Waited until the man reached down for him again with his cruel fingers. His patience paid off. When the man's throat was no more than scant inches from him, Jacob twisted lithely beneath him. Seizing the man's wrist in an iron-like grasp, Jacob _yanked_. The man lost his footing on the wet ship deck, his boots squeaking stupidly, and Jacob grinned like a madman – crazed with hunger and sudden, elating freedom – as he grabbed the man by the thin hair at the back of his neck and said, "You can try."

He let go of the creature inside him. It felt like relaxing muscles he hadn't known he'd been flexing for hours. His mind whited out, suddenly overwritten with a new and fearsome instinct that washed over him like a wave. He struck for the man's throat, and relished the horrified and panicked yelps it elicited from those who surrounded him. The man beneath his teeth – his still painfully blunt teeth – screamed, his throat vibrating against Jacob's gums as he dug in deeper, waiting until that familiar copper tang flooded his mouth.

It was a messy wound, smearing red all across Jacob's face, but he could hardly feel it. Each swallow of blood – warm and thick and filling – left him blissful in its wake. Not even the man's hands grasping and beating at his shoulders could faze him, not even as they slowed. Finally, he was filling the gnawing hole that his belly had become. Finally, he was sating his thirst. It was like running for miles and finally drinking water. Like a feast after days of fasting. His eyes rolled in his head as he pulled harder and harder from the swollen wound beneath his lips – the drink coming slower and thinner as the man bled dry.

And then he let him go, easing him down onto the deck slowly as Jacob rose. He should have looked pathetic clad only in loose, drenched trousers and his hair a wet and tangled mess atop his head. Instead, he looked like a demon incarnate – tall and strong and menacing. Although he was not taller than most the brutes on the ship, his presence towered over them, and he couldn't help but feel a thrill of pleasure in the power that inspired within him.

"M-monster!"

"Stay away!"

The men all scrambled, but there was nowhere to run in the middle of the River Thames.

The men that could swim jumped ship, and Jacob let them.

Those who remained would be enough to fill him.


	10. The Devil's Deal

Jacob feels strong, heady, damn-straight on top of the world when he slips into the estate he had escaped from a mere day ago. The blood he had drained atop the River Thames is a heavy, comforting weight in his belly – knowing it had come from dead men walking. _Realizing_ _that_ ; realizing that he could drink from the throats of men he would've sliced open anyway felt like a burden off his shoulders he hadn't felt since the moment he and Evie had put Crawley miles behind them.

He slipped by the guards easily, not because of his new nature, but because of the nature he had taken his entire life to cultivate within the brotherhood. But Roth's little "gift" did have its perks, Jacob couldn't deny it. His eyes were more focused, his vision more mature. He could see every living soul in the estate while using his eagle vision now; could time his movements to theirs flawlessly. It took minutes to find himself outside of his creator's private chamber. Even less to silently slide in.

He found Roth in a dark corner by the window, a glass of thick red liquid cupped – nearly carelessly – in loose fingers as he took in the night before him. He seemed calm. At peace. He didn't turn to look at Jacob when he spoke, but Jacob didn't think he'd enter unnoticed – not when Jacob could feel Roth's own presence like a buzzing in the back of his mind since the moment he entered the estate.

"You came back," Roth said, and Jacob could tell the monster was grinning; pleasantly surprised.

"I did."

Finally, Roth turned in his plush seat to regard him. Immediately, his surprise melted into a pleased look of approval. He quirked a brow and his voice dipped just a little bit deeper as his eyes swept over Jacob from head to toe. No tact. Jacob imagined the image he must paint – half drowned and dripping. Stained with splatter, smelling to high heaven of brackish water and death; but Roth seemed pleased to no end. Even if Jacob was dripping on his expensive carpets.

"You fed," Roth barked, shocked and joyful. "You fed _well._ "

"That obvious?" Jacob asked with a smirk.

Roth's own smile grew, practically split his face in half. Gently, he sat his glass aside and lifted himself from his chair with the grace of a great cat. His steps were silent, and as he came closer, Jacob couldn't help but think the man looked _younger_ somehow. His wrinkles smoothed, his pale skin flush, his hair fuller – brighter. He reached for Jacob at both shoulders, shook him gentle in his excitement, then let his hands slide down to grasp Jacob's own. He looked at Jacob like he was something precious and young, and it made him shiver. Like that little bird he crushed mere days ago.

"And how does it feel?"

"Wonderful," he said, thinking of how he felt. Young. Viral. _Powerful._ "Horrible," he said, thinking of the pain it had taken to get to this point. "Terrifying," he said, although he said it simply, as though commenting on the weather.

There was no use in lying. Heady from the rush of endorphins and his first real meal, Jacob couldn't shake the feeling of _rightness_ from his bones. His body – his human body – felt like a shadow compared to the skin he inhabited now. How could he ever go back to his slowly aching joints and bruises and decaying flesh? His vision had never been bad before, but by comparison to now Jacob felt he might as well have been blind. A niggling in the back of his mind remembered _the guilt – the girl – his sister._

But he had a way, now, to live this life. And oh, how he'd live it. Oh the gory _dent_ he'd put in Starrick's forces now that he had this power within his hands. He'd shred the Templars, burn them until nothing was left – and then he'd deal with the consequences of his immortal soul. But for now, he'd just enjoy it while there was food enough to spare.

"It will get easier," Roth promised, moving one hand to rest above the spot where Jacob's heart once beat. "It's all uphill from here, darling."

"I didn't come here to celebrate, Roth," Jacob said, not pulling away but not relaxing either. His usual playfulness slipped away beneath a businesslike mask – and he saw the way the smile melted from Roth's face. The man pulled away.

"Oh?"

"I nearly killed my sister. And that cannot stand. If that ever happens – if I ever hurt her again – I will come here to finish what I started in the Alhambra," he said, advancing on Roth now, towering over him while anger seethed from his every pore. "I will not hesitate. I will not show mercy. And when I am done and your seemingly immortal life has ended – I will take my own, and our story will end. Silently, in an instant."

Roth shivered. Something flashed in his eyes – something dark and knowing. His smile was back, now. For the life of Jacob, he just couldn't understand this man.

"Those sound like terms to me, darling. Terms to what deal, I wonder."

Jacob felt his breath still in his lungs. A final moment of deliberation, like one last breath before the plunge. He leapt.

"The deal is this, Roth. You teach me to control this _gift_ of yours. Teach me to control myself. This _hunger_ ," Jacob said, taking another step closer until they were nose to nose. "And I will stay."

Roth leaned in closer, their mouths practically brushing as his scarlet eyes met Jacob's.

"Then by all means, my dear," he whispered into his mouth, "Stay."

Jacob smiled, and in his gut, he felt success lift his spirits. He was in Roth's good graces once more. He'd suck this well dry until he had his feet beneath him. He'd absorb Roth's teachings, he'd keep the man happy, he'd make him think himself in control – and then, after Starrick lay beneath his boot heel dead and cold, Jacob would return and finish what he started.

He'd see to it firsthand that Roth never ruined another life, another family. Not if Jacob could help it.

* * *

[a/n] Sorry friends! Work had in me NYC for the past week - and the crazy set hours left me with _no time_ to update. But here's a quick, mini-update! Thank you again for all the support! I adore you guys!


	11. A Game of Persuasion

Roth took on his role as teacher with more rigor and eagerness than Jacob had been expecting; which, in hindsight, he really should have expected all along. Roth was all too happy to show Jacob the ways of his kin, to show him the new dark avenues of skill sets he now possessed. Jacob just wished the man would do it with a little less orthodoxy. He tried to ignore the irony of that thought when it struck him. Somewhere, Evie was _rolling._

Then again, the chaotic way in which Roth approached his life and everything (and one) in it was exactly the reason why Jacob had been drawn to him in the first place. Damn it.

"This is ridiculous," Jacob muttered under his breath as he slipped into the manor house for yet another odd training session. It wasn't that these little "missions" of Roth's were odd in and of themselves. After all, Jacob was no stranger to breaking in and entering – and that was the _least_ of the crimes he had broken. But it was _why_ he was here that struck him as odd; made it hard to take the mission seriously.

Jacob had gone from murdering cruel men to stealing odd trinkets from old and young ladies alike – among other things and people.

"It's a small thing," Roth had said, smoothing out the crisp shoulders of Jacob's coat as he explained. A soft nose behind his ear, disturbing the short hairs behind it; a soft breath. "A brooch. Shaped like a hummingbird, inlaid with diamonds and sapphires and emeralds. You'll bring me this, won't you, darling?"

Jacob resisted the urge to clench a fist, annoying by the triviality of these targets. Roth had long become accustomed to his body language. If he did anything even remotely insinuating that he thought Roth was wasting his time, the man would waste no time in rushing out of the room in a huff – and Jacob would have to wait that much longer for his much needed lessons.

"Of course," Jacob purred back, smirking. Roth grinned, excited, happy to have Jacob in on the joke. To be on the same page. To be close. Jacob straightened the lapels of his coat and moved to make for the window, "I'll have that for you before your last glass of red for the night –"

"Ah, ah, ah," Roth tutted, amused. Jacob pulled up short, confused. "Don't you want to hear the rules of your little escapade?"

Jacob frowned.

"Don't use any doors or windows manually, smoke only. Like always."

Roth smiled, "You've gotten quite good at though, my dear, time to up the ante. No doors, no windows – smoke to _enter_ the building. However, once you're inside, I want you to persuade the woman to give it to you. Or a butler or a servant. Hell, her husband. But you are not allowed to snatch it yourself."

"They'll remember me, surely?" Jacob started, then shook his head and said, scandalized, "And how the hell am I supposed to _persuade_ them?"

"Like this," Roth croaked in what Jacob thought might have been an attempt at a purr, his throat too abused for much more than a rocky rumble. And then the man – _the vampire,_ Jacob reminded himself – was close to him, deep in his space. A breath between their lips, their eyes locked. "Confidence is key, darling. When you ask them of something, you don't _ask_ , not really. But make it sound soft. Like it's their idea."

Jacob took a step back. Roth followed.

"Eye contact. Very important, particularly for a pup as young as yourself. And desire. You have to want it, Jacob. You have to want the end result more than they want to resist you," he said. Jacob could practically feel the man's whiskers on his lips. He didn't realize how far he had backed up until his knees met the bed. He tumbled back and Roth followed. His eyes were red like the Alhambra's flames – deep glimmering coals that drew him from his body, left him feeling disconnected and weightless.

"I think you'll do just fine," Roth said, and Jacob felt he would – because surely the man was right. "And for that little lesson, I think I deserve a reward. A kiss? Surely that would not be too costly. Just the right so of generous, don't you think?"

And he _did_ think. Jacob hesitated, his breath a stutter lodged in his chest. His eyes fluttered, confused for just a moment, before rushing up to meet Roth – eager to give his gift.

Roth's lips were surprisingly soft for a man with a voice so rough, with hands so cruel, with a mind so dark. His mustache was an odd, scratchy thing that Jacob had never felt before. So unlike a woman. So unlike anything he had ever felt before. Suddenly, the lips against his were smiling. Hands creeping into the hem of his trousers, pulling free his freshly tucked shirt and – _no!_

Jacob hauled the man off, twisted off the bed and rushed to the side of the room – fingers at his lips. His eyes were wide in the way he imagine a virgin woman's might, and that made him feel young and pink in the cheeks. Angry. Fooled.

"What did you… How… Why did you do that?!"

There was a moment where Roth looked put out, his hands still posed to undress Jacob. But without missing another beat, he slipped back into persona and laughed grandly. His long fingers sought out the wine glass on the dresser, a thick syrupy batch of fresh blood tossing gently inside the swell of its cup.

"You wanted to learn, dear heart, did you not?" Roth chuckled, sipping from his glass as he locked his dark eyes upon him. Hungry and hunting.

That was their first kiss, Jacob realized. And if what Roth said was true – that you had to _want it_ more than your target wanted to resist… Jacob's ears flushed and Roth smiled like a lion, knowing what he had just realized.

What else was the man willing to take?

"A kiss, darling, is all I've ever force from you," he said, setting down his glass as he lazily crossed a single finger in an X atop his heart. "Nothing more. Not against your will. What would be the fun in that? I like a willing playmate."

If he had a heart, it'd be pounding. Instead, Jacob rushed across the room before Roth could mess with him any longer and tried to ignore his sire's laughter as he flung the window open and leapt into the cool, crisp freedom of London's night sky.

That's how he found himself here, several hallways deep into a strange woman's home – looking for some godforsaken brooch shaped like a bird and hoping he could find someone feeble minded enough to just give it to him. A maid, perhaps. Maybe he could charm the owner of the brooch herself. A nice lay in return for a finely inlaid brooch sounded like just the ticket.

But that quickly brought him back to thoughts of Roth and Roth's bed, Roth's lips, Roth's kiss. Taken against his will as though he were some fair maiden to be swept off his feet. It had been a supernatural power asserted over him, he knew, but that didn't reduce any of the sting.

He didn't know what was worse. The fact that Roth had taken that kiss against his will or the fact that somewhere deep in his gut, he knew he probably would have given that kiss to the man freely before all this had happened. Before the factory. Before the bite.

Even now, he was not so sure he wouldn't… He rubbed the scars on his neck – faint now, almost gone. Against all rationality, part of him wanted to be with Roth; and it was a feeling that grew every day. The desire to please him. To grow to extent and with such progress that it made him proud. It was the bite, he knew. After one last visit to Evie – only to drop off a letter letting her know he was in fact alive and that _he_ would seek _her_ out once he was sure he could control himself – he had taken all the notes she had received from Dickens.

Sympathy for the sire, and often times more, was not unheard. The only question was: was the bite the only thing to blame?

"Hello?" a soft voice, a woman's. "Who's there?"

Jacob was torn from his thoughts as the lights in the hallway suddenly turned on – forcing him quickly into a corner where he could dematerialize into the shadows and observe.

The woman in question was dressed in night clothing, and at the sight of an empty hallway, she couldn't help but shiver.

"I could have sworn…" she whispered before shaking her head and turning out the lights. She disappeared around the corner and Jacob released himself from the shadows – breathing hard like he had been holding his breath. As if he needed it.

Holding himself in that state – like fine particles of soft, fine black sand upheld in a sentient wind – was difficult. He had been getting better at it, thanks to Roth's insistence that he only enter or exit with the use of that ability, but he could still only hold it for thirty to forty seconds at a time, at best. Often times less.

He shook out his limbs, trying to reduce the soft burning he felt within them, and sharply reminded himself to stay focused on the task at hand. He had to persuade someone to fetch that brooch – but most likely said owner of that brooch was asleep in the very room that held it… So going to the source was probably his best bet and the more he thought of it, maybe not as impossible as it seemed.

So with great care, he found himself slipping silently through the halls once more – his eyes seeking out the woman he needed now that he had a plan in mind. She was a floor up, he found out, and in a room at the heart of the estate. She didn't sleep in the same room as her husband – _thank whatever deity be watching over him_ – and was alone, asleep, and blissfully unaware of him.

He crept to her bedside with a silence that disturbed him sometimes and gently lowered himself unlike he was sitting at her side and hunched over to whisper in her ear.

"You're quite lovely, you know," he whispered charmingly, the way he might of if he had met her at a party. And she was, actually, quite lovely. Pale marble skin with creamy red hair that curled along her shoulders and haloed her head. He brushed a stray hair back as she stirred, as though waking, and so he thought of what Roth said and focused.

"Stay asleep," he suggested kindly, "You need to rest to maintain such loveliness. Be at ease. I won't let anything happen to you. Rest and listen to me instead."

There was a moment when he could have sworn he felt his heart flutter in his chest – anxious that the compulsion wouldn't work, that Roth had lied and set him up for failure. That he wouldn't be able to accomplish this without eye contact. But where he lacked that direct path into the mind, he had something better – more malleable. A sleeping target and a dreaming, unguarded subconscious. Whatever she experienced here tonight, she'd attribute to dreams. Any resistance she might have had, gone to the lesser inhibitions of a dreaming mind.

So when she settled back against her pillows with a little smile and a soft sigh, Jacob couldn't help but feel excited. He did it – Roth would be so…

He squashed down the thought, a frown suddenly bleeding onto his face. He wasn't here to please Roth. He was here to learn to control the gifts that lunatic had stuffed into his blood and use them to kill Starrick. _Focus_ , _Jacob, bloody focus._

The woman beside him mumbled uncomfortably, his unease leaking into her dreams. He smoothed back her hair again and apologized with a soft whisper and another gentle compulsion. And then he closed his eyes and imagined her – imagined what she might be seeing now.

 _They were at a party, and despite the crowd around them, they felt alone together. The balcony was a huge, grand thing that overlooked a vast garden – not that she noticed, what with how her eyes were focused on him. She was dressed in a gorgeous gown befitting of her nimble figure, her curls pulled beautifully atop her head, and pinned kindly upon her shoulder was the brooch he had orders to retrieve – glimmering innocently just in front of him._

 _He was done up in a smart looking tux. He had to admit, he cleaned up nice – not as though he didn't already know that. He had to hold back a shiver when he thought he could hear Roth purring in his ear, "Don't get too cozy with her, darling; don't forget who you come home to."_

 _Jacob shook his head to clear away the thought._

 _The woman frowned, concerned, and brushed a gentle hand against his forearm._

 _"Are you quite alright? You looked faint for a moment."_

 _Jacob pulled at his collar, trying to ignore the turmoil in his mind and focus as he chuckled, "It's hard not to feel faint in the face of beauty such as yours."_

 _Good recovery, he praised himself. Somewhere, he could have sworn he felt Roth frown._

 _The woman flushed and averted her gaze coyly._

 _"It's been a long time since a man has said such a thing to me."_

 _"My dear lady," Jacob said theatrically on a whisper and caught her hand. "He's a daft and foolish man if he doesn't say that to you every day," he said, punctuating it with a kind kiss to first her knuckles, "Every morning," the top of her hand, "every evening," the curve of thumb joint, "and every night," he said with a final, gentle twist of her hand and a kiss upon her wrist. She was trembling, now. Not in love with him, but the idea of him. He felt a pang, knowing he had wrapped her in a lie just as Roth had done to him._

 _"That's very kind of you to say," she said, finally, when she found the words to speak._

 _"Would you dance with me, my lady," he asked, suddenly, as though overpowered by excitement and puppy love. "If only once before your husband steals you back?"_

 _Her 'yes' she let out on a breath, as though swept away by the mere thought of it._

 _It was while they danced that he finally mentioned it, after a quick question about her childhood and a short tale about his own – the Creed omitted, of course. He told her of Evie, and made up a quick tale about his sister's absolute love of hummingbirds. How she was marrying a man from another country quite soon and he wanted a gift to give that she could remember him by._

 _"Do you have any suggestions?" He asked._

 _With a bright smile that made Jacob nearly flinch to see, knowing how he had twisted her to achieve, she got up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear and say, "I have just the thing."_

When Jacob opened his eyes, it was because the bed was dipping – first in, as the woman shifted her weight to rise – then up as she vacated the bed as a sleepwalker might and made her way across the room to her dresser. There, with eyes half closed, she picked up a large box of expensive bobbles and jewelry, and Jacob couldn't help but watch as her fingers skimmed along it's little slots until finally she pulled out a familiar brooch. She walked back to the bed and faced him, her smile bright but her eyes distant in a way that made Jacob sick, and held it out to him.

"For your sister," she whispered.

He wrapped his hand around hers, turned it in his own, and kissed the soft flesh of her wrist as he gently took the brooch from her.

"I will never forget your kindness," he said.

And as he gently guided her to lie back down she whispered, "Nor will I yours."

He left her smiling in her sleep when he slipped through her bedroom door and out the hall window in a mist of fine, black sand. When he reconstructed himself in the alley outside her estate, he tipped his hat to her window before stalking down London's sprawling, dark streets – hands in his pockets and the brooch a heavy weight within them.

He hoped her husband would start appreciating her. He hoped if he didn't, she'd wake up and see she could have better. He knew neither would happen. That's just not how London worked, lately…

As he headed home, he thought about catching a meal. He'd be starving come evening tomorrow, if he didn't – what with how many skills he had utilized tonight. But the thought of hunting down a Blighter to eat left him feeling exhausted. Surely missing one meal wouldn't matter. Plus, he needed to start exercising restraint, right? It was a long road back to Roth's estate and daybreak was on its way. If he found a Blighter on the way home, great, he decided. If not, he'd live.

* * *

When he brought the brooch back to Roth, it wasn't to the excitement he had expected the man to have. It didn't stop him from blundering through the window in a flurry of fine sand and vent about how _amazing_ but how _terrible_ that little gift was.

"I can't believe it worked," he stressed, twirling to toss the fine piece of jewelry onto Roth's lap before throwing his hands in the air, "First try! I'm not sure I like the implication of forcing someone against their will, but I _do_ know someone I would love to make put a gun to their head and shoot!"

Jacob sat down onto the bed with a pleased huff before starting to pull his boots from his feet. He was exhausted, suddenly – morning had quite nearly followed him home and he had only just made it back in time. He was ready for bed; so ready, in fact, he missed the horrid weight of Roth's silence until he had both boots flying into the corner.

"What?" He asked, eyeing the man with a wry and combative grin. "You can't possibly be upset. I did everything as you asked, to the letter."

Jacob resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably beneath Roth's gaze as the man regarded him from the little table he had set up in Jacob's room at his estate. Spacious accommodations – as generous as they were pricey. Jacob sighed from the end of his bed and threw out his arms.

"What? What could I possibly have done wrong? Was it the flirting? I could have sworn I hear you – "

"Did you eat?"

"What?" Jacob asked, caught off guard.

"Did you eat, Jacob," Roth asked, standing slowly, suddenly.

"I—" he started, but the sentence petered off. His mind fumbled for words, but he couldn't find any. He hadn't thought Roth would check. He had trusted him until now to fend for himself after missions. Why…?

"There were plenty of opportunities, no doubt, on your way home?"

"No, actually," Jacob started, then stopped when he realized why Roth was mad. His gazed jerked up to glare at Roth. "We've discussed this."

"Blighters will not be around forever, darling," he said as he came to stand between the part in Jacob's legs. Jacob refused to be cowed, however, knowing the man to be using his personal space to throw him off guard. So he didn't budge as the man grew closer – his hands exploring his face and gliding through his hair – his face suddenly kind. "Why should I train you if you just intend to starve yourself?"

"Because we made a deal."

"A deal," Roth repeated as he lowered himself to whisper in Jacob's ear. "Yes. I do believe you promised you'd stay with me, darling."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"I suppose you are… But if you keep skipping meals because of your warped sense of morals," Roth said, he pleasant words turning quickly into a snarl, "I don't think you'll like how…difficult…your skills will quickly become. Do not presume to think yourself so quick a study that you can afford to skip your meals so soon."

"Or else what?" Jacob asked, snide, annoyed by the lecture – hackles raising as thoughts of carless arguments with Evie brought him on edge.

"Oh you have nothing to fear from me, darling," Roth purred, slipping from his legs suddenly as though he were not threatening Jacob a mere moment ago – all pleasantness returned. "Continue as you are, you'll only have yourself to blame. Let's just leave it at that."

"What -?"

"See you tomorrow evening. You best prepare yourself, it'll be harder than the last."

And just like that, Roth was gone – leaving Jacob to stew in the aftermath of their little spat; rolling over his words in his head as he tried to ignore the stung feeling at realizing that Roth had never praised him that night.

He did, however, take the brooch before he left.

* * *

[A/N]

I truly apologize for the sudden lack of updates. I needed time to figure out where I wanted this story to go and how to do it. Add in moving, a lot of field production work, and a lot of not being home lately thanks to late hours - well, as you can imagine, there hasn't been a lot of time to write. But I appreciate those kind souls who kept commenting and sending words of encouragement.


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